


Teacher's Pet

by The_Missing_Paige



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Ending, Depression, High School, Homophobia, Interactive Fiction, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Power Imbalance, Reader-Interactive, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Winry bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Missing_Paige/pseuds/The_Missing_Paige
Summary: Edward has begun his senior year of high school, and he’d rather be anywhere else. The attentions of his chemistry teacher, Mr. Mustang, are a welcome distraction from the last year. Roy, for his part, is enjoying the affair, but when his wife gets suspicious, he’s got to cool it. Meanwhile, the new kid, Envy, is confident and interesting--and grabbing Ed's attention. Can Edward wait for Roy to make up his mind, or is Envy more enticing? HS AU. RoyEd and Edvy. Choose your own adventure.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Envy, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 56
Kudos: 159





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As stated in the summary, this will be a choose your own adventure! For the first bulk of the story, everything will be the same. But as it goes on, I'll be designating certain chapters for those who would like to keep on with a RoyEd pairing, and others for those who would prefer Ed end up with Envy. So the start will be the same either way, but you guys can each choose your ending :) When the time comes to start paying attention, I'll make a note. 
> 
> Also, I listed the triggers in the tags, but here they are again as well: depression, suicidal thoughts/idealization, possible self-harm, underage sex, an adult having sex with an underage person, power imbalance, and unhealthy relationships. If anything in there or anything similar is going to get to you, consider not reading. 
> 
> If you like Winry as a character...I'm sorry. Otherwise, hope you enjoy!

The Central City High School building was large and overbearing, as was to be expected of the only public high school in the Amestrian capital. Sure, there were plenty of private schools, but that couldn’t dilute the sheer number of students enough to allow for a more aesthetic setting. Standing three stories tall and spanning the better part of the block, CCHS was a hulking, functional bit of architecture.

To the eyes of Edward Elric, it was a looming, soul-sucking piece of shit.

Still a couple of streets away, Ed could see his school in the distance and therefore couldn’t keep his eyes off it. Unconsciously, his heels began to drag even more than they had been, trying to keep him from having to walk into that fucking building. _Just one more year,_ he told himself. It was a mantra he’d been repeating all the way from Izumi’s house, one he was desperately trying to hold on to. _Just one more year_.

Beside him, Alphonse seemed to notice his pace slow that infinitesimal amount. Al had been blissfully quiet for the walk, maintaining a quietly comforting presence…but now he seemed to feel the need to speak up. “Come on, Brother. I know you don’t want to go, but if you don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care.” It was a knee-jerk response, one he’d repeated over and over during the too-short summer vacation. In an unofficial running tally, Edward no longer cared about being late, sleeping in, eating well, being respectful…well, a lot of things.

His brother’s response was painfully calm. “Yes, you do. This place sucks, and what happened sucks, but I know you. Even with all that, you still have goals, which means you still need an education.”

Edward groaned aloud, letting his head fall back. Though the break was over, it was still summer, and frankly the sky had no right to be so clear and blue on such a bleak day. “Point taken, Al. Which is why I’m coming with you at all. Let’s just get going, okay?”

Alphonse only nodded, hitching his backpack a little higher on his shoulders. A faint grin pulled up the corner of Ed’s mouth despite his foul mood; Al was just so hilariously proper. His bag was worn correctly on both shoulders, his uniform was washed and pressed, his tie was neat and tight. Hell, his brother had even gotten a haircut so that he could usher in the new school year with as tidy an appearance as possible. Edward, on the other hand, let his bookbag dangle precariously off his left shoulder. He’d not bothered to order a new uniform despite Izumi’s constant reminders, and his body had changed a lot from the running he’d taken up over the summer. As such, his pants were a little too tight on newfound thigh muscle. Both those and his button up were wrinkled (having spent the previous night on the floor), and Ed had messily rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Technically he was wearing a tie as well, as required, but it was so loosely attached that Edward was betting he’d get dress coded within the first two periods. As for his hair, it was pulled back into a tight ponytail.

Up until last year, Edward had worn his hair in a braid. This year, he’d decided it was a little too effeminate, and that was the last thing he needed. For a month, he’d debated buzzing his head so that it suited a more masculine style, but Al and Izumi had managed to convince him otherwise. After all, a style change was one thing, but lopping all his hair off was too much to do for the sake of what other people thought. That was what they claimed, at least.

Privately, Ed thought that if today went too awfully he’d just do it anyway.

All too soon, they were at the gates of CCHS. Hesitation crept up once more; Ed glanced around the front entryway, and more than one pair of eyes flicked away from his stare. He swallowed hard, trying to rationalize within himself. Not all the whispers around him could be about _that_. Surely not. Still, the instinct to flee was strong for a second—before Alphonse opened those dreaded double doors and pulled him through.

Inside, there were more students milling about, and the noise levels increased drastically. There were girls shrieking about this and that occurrence over the holiday, guys laughing in corners, lockers slamming…over the loudspeaker the school’s secretary, Mrs. Hawkeye, was making an announcement, but Edward couldn’t tell what it was. Probably telling everyone they had five minutes until first bell, he guessed as he glanced at a clock. He and Al were cutting it close.

Ed’s brother seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for Alphonse tapped him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. Al’s expression was apologetic as he half-shouted over the din, “I’ve got to get going, Brother. Please, just…don’t let anyone get to you. It’s a new year. I’ll meet you out front at the end of the day.”

Unable to speak around the sudden lump in his throat, Edward watched as his younger brother disappeared down a gray hallway and into the crowd. Up until then he’d been relying on Al’s strength to get in the door, but he was a senior and Alphonse was a junior. They didn’t share any classes this year, so Ed found himself…all alone. Maneuvering himself from the thinning throng of students into a corner beside a water fountain, he rifled through his bag until he found a scrap of paper amongst the fresh binders and textbooks. Pulling it out, Edward briefly consulted his class list, trying to commit it to memory. He would be getting enough stares today; Ed didn’t also want to be mocked for having to keep double checking where he was going.

_Bell 1: AP English Literature / Mr. Hughes / Room 102_

_Bell 2: AP Latin / Ms. Armstrong / Room 119_

_Bell 3: Political and Social Science / Mrs. Elliot / Room 158_

_Bell 4: AP Biology / Mr. Tucker / Room 87_

_Lunch / Cafeteria_

_Bell 5: AP Calculus / Mr. Falman_

_Bell 6: AP Chemistry / Mr. Mustang / Room 74_

_Bell 7: Gym / Mr. Armstrong / Gymnasium_

It was a hell of a lineup. With all _that_ nonsense from last year, Edward had decided to forego more frivolous classes and double down on what would look good on a college application. All he had to do this year was keep his head down, keep it together, and focus on getting the hell out of this place. It looked like that would be starting with an English class.

Luckily for him, considering the clock eagerly ticking away the minutes he had left to get to class, Edward was already on the right floor. He took off at a brisk walk to the opposite hallway his brother had headed down, keeping his eyes on the floor. With the corridors relatively clear now, Ed had no trouble moving, and quickly found where he was meant to be just as the first bell rang.

Stepping through the open doorway, Edward found to his relief that the teacher hadn’t even made it to the room yet. No comments on his near lateness, then. However, that feeling evaporated as quickly as it had come; sitting in the first row of seats, glaring right at him, was the person he dreaded seeing most of all.

Winry.

Next to her, his ex’s best friend Paninya stopped talking abruptly when she realized Winry was no longer paying attention. She turned, and upon spotting Edward, narrowed her eyes as well. Ed was entirely frozen, unable to move. His blood felt like ice, though he was sure his face was hot. It could only have been a few seconds before Winry spoke (to her friend—she would never speak directly to _him_ ), but they felt like a lifetime. “Ugh, should have known I couldn’t avoid the fag for long.”

As though her poisonous words had released him somehow, Edward managed to step forward, averting his eyes. Winry’s carrying whisper had reached the rest of the room, and he could feel twenty-odd stares on him as he scurried to an open desk, the furthest back he could find. Two kids were still behind him, but Ed was glad to have snagged a chair by the window. Amongst a faint murmuring, he plopped down into his seat and stared pointedly out of said window, doing his utmost to pretend he could hear nothing.

Maybe if he looked unbothered, he really would be. Hadn’t worked so far, but it wasn’t like he had another strategy to try.

Blissfully, he was rescued by the arrival of their instructor—Mr. Hughes. Edward had heard of the guy (who was famous for being derailed from teaching to go off on personal tangents). Still, when he walked in, Mr. Hughes looked normal enough. Neat hair, purple button up and slacks, and a stack of books appropriate for an English teacher in his arms. Edward definitely _did not_ notice the scruffy beard or the muscles in the man’s forearms. Before he’d even cleared the doorway, Mr. Hughes was already talking.

“Heya, everyone! Glad to see so many of you looking awake and ready to go!” With a loud _thump_ , Mr. Hughes dropped his armful onto his desk, proceeding to lean against it. He looked over the top rim of his glasses at his class, seeming to survey everyone for a long moment before continuing. “Well, let’s get to it, shall we? Now, I’m a firm believer in a mutual learning environment. Compared to other classes y’all might have had here, this will be a very open platform. I think you learn better through discussion than boring presentations.” Ed could hardly believe how _peppy_ this man was. Mr. Hughes, even just giving this brief introduction, seemed so full of energy. _Good for him_ , Ed thought. “That being said,” the teacher continued, “I think the best way to establish a start to that environment is for everyone to get to know each other a little better.”

A collective groan rose up from the assembled students. Mr. Hughes raised his hands up. “I know, I know, it’s not the most exciting thing. But this is a big school, so I’m sure some of you haven’t interacted before, and it’s much more fun to discuss Shakespeare with friends than with strangers.”

Friends. Ha. This guy was a comedian. Edward allowed his attention to wander back out towards the window as Mr. Hughes kept talking. “So, how about we go around the class, and introduce ourselves. Obviously, I’ll need names, and then maybe three fun facts about each of you! Miss, how about you start?”

Edward knew who it would be—fucking upstart liked to sit in the front of her classes so the teachers would notice her. He closed his eyes as she spoke…it would be okay to fall asleep in class if he wasn’t actually _learning_ anything, right?

“My name’s Winry Rockbell. I haven’t cut my hair in five years, I work on the school newspaper, and I’m going to be an engineer.”

She forgot to mention that Edward had been there the last time she had her hair cut, that she ruined his life with her fucking journalistic sleuthing, and that being an engineer meant nothing if you were also a bitch. Whatever.

“Wonderful, Miss Winry! Next?”

On and on it went. Paninya, Lucas, Trevor, Mallory…the names and stats on everyone blurred together in Ed’s mind. Vaguely he realized that when it was his turn, he needed something to say. Blinking his eyes open, Edward looked to see that he only had four or five people ahead of him to figure that out. What was there to say? It was like Ed had forgotten everything about himself, right when he needed to pull a few facts out of his ass. And he was supposed to be a smart kid.

Inevitably, it was his turn to speak. Edward cleared his throat, but before he could say anything, someone muttered, “We all know enough about you.”

A weight settled in Ed’s chest. He couldn’t breathe, much less talk. But Mr. Hughes was doing that for him. “Hey, now, who said that?” The cheerful man’s countenance had turned suddenly serious, as he looked around the class for the culprit. Of course, no one was stupid enough to fess up. The teacher’s frown deepened as he chastised them as a whole. “This _will_ be a pleasant environment for everyone. I’ll happily allow discourse in the world of literature, but I will not tolerate insults or slights on a personal level. Please, continue—and no more interruptions.”

Though Edward knew Mr. Hughes was just trying to stick up for him, what he said only made things worse. Sniggers erupted around the room, poorly disguised as coughs from some. Others didn’t care enough to hide their reaction. Swallowing hard, Ed mumbled out what the teacher wanted. “My name’s Edward Elric. I have one brother, I’m a runner, and—” _I hate myself, and everyone else does too. I wish I could change but I can’t. My mom is dead and my dad disappeared._ “—I want to be a scientist.”

There. He’d done what was asked of him. Mr. Hughes didn’t linger, thankfully, moving his attention onto the next student. When those few behind Edward had introduced themselves, the teacher clapped his hands together, a frankly frightening grin on his face. Despite his discomfort, Ed found himself intrigued. What could merit that expression…?

“Oh, now this is my favorite part! I’ve learned, every year I have to go last because I just get so excited!” Mr. Hughes was almost yelling now, as he dug in his pockets and pulled out a handful of photographs. “As you know from your class schedule, my name is Maes Hughes—Mr. to you all!—and I have a wonderful wife named Gracia. Even better, I just became a daddy!” Fervent, now, the teacher began to pass around the photos. “These are of my beautiful daughter Elicia! Couldn’t you just eat her up?”

Ah, so _these_ were the type of tangents people were talking about. Mr. Hughes went on and on, talking much more about his family than himself. Ed was just grateful that all the attention was on their energetic instructor. He thought he’d prepared himself, over the summer, for what would be waiting for him upon his return to CCHS. Ed knew there would be comments, but actually hearing them again after the wonderous months of solitude…he felt drained. And it was only first bell!

Inhaling deeply, and exhaling slowly, Edward tried to calm the erratic tick of his anxious heart. _Just one more year_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for the positive feedback so far!   
> A couple of things since I was literally too focused on trigger warnings in the first chapter to remember to clarify:  
> Ed and Al have their normal bodies in this AU.  
> It's not modern day. I would say it's...an ambiguous timeline. While I'm writing based on the current US HS system, otherwise I imagine this set in the same Amestris as Brotherhood. That means no modern tech.  
> That's all, hope you enjoy!

For the most part, Edward was able to get through the next chunk of the day with minimal issues. Thankfully, it seemed Winry was—so far—only in his English class. That meant that while he’d heard some whispered slurs and been tripped in the halls once, he was able to more or less ignore what was going on around him. While that completely sucked, it was better than being actively antagonized.

The classes themselves didn’t seem too crazy. Ms. Armstrong, whom Edward had taken Latin from the previous year, was still strict as ever. Mrs. Elliot was pretty rigidly opinionated, but Ed had an unfortunate amount of experience dealing with that. To be fair, Mr. Tucker seemed kind of…off, but that was the least of his concerns.

Lunch was the hardest part. Up until this year, Ed had maintained a modest friend group. But now Winry hated his guts, and so did Paninya (who had always been more her friend, anyway). Russell and Adrien had written him off. Rose had told him, privately, that she didn’t in fact hate him, but anyone who was seen hanging out with him was also a target, and she had to save her own skin. And this year he and Al weren’t sharing any classes and as such had different lunch periods. So, Ed was left alone.

Out of habit, he’d gone to the cafeteria, which was a huge mistake. He should’ve thought that one through ahead of time, but alas. Edward had made a note to himself; lunch would have to be spent in the library from now on. As it was, Ed had refused flat out to sit at a lunch table by himself. It would only draw _more_ attention to him, and he was doing his best to just go under the radar. Luckily for him, CCHS had its cafeteria on the first floor, and there was a small outdoor seating area connected to the main room. It had been easy enough for Edward to vault the half wall barrier around the picnic tables and eat his lunch in peace on the other side.

Still, that had only solved the problem of being watched and mocked. It did nothing to ease the pang of loneliness that lunch brought. Edward had been only too happy when it was over.

Period five had been calculus with Mr. Falman. He was less abrasive than Ed’s other teachers, and he’d rather thought it would be an enjoyable class. Besides, math had always been one of his strong suits.

Now, Edward was walking into AP chem. He’d aimed to sit in the back of the class, as he’d done for all the others that day, but it seemed this Mr. Mustang guy was the only teacher Ed had that had opted to make a seating chart. And, figures, Edward was right up front.

Settling in, Ed examined the rest of the chart that had been drawn on the chalkboard. It was only upon nearing the bottom that he saw the name he’d been dreading. And speak—or rather, think—of the devil! There she was. Winry walked into the room, tugging the hem of her skirt down (she always hemmed her skirts to a more “flattering” length, and as a result was constantly on the verge of being dress coded). As such it was a moment before she noticed Edward, but when she did…a scowl flitted across her face, before she gave a little _hmpf!_ and decided he wasn’t worth her time. Good.

Trying his best to look on the bright side, Ed reflected that she was at least seated on the opposite side of the room as him, towards the back. If he could stop himself from feeling the daggers she was bound to stare at him, he could pretend she wasn’t there.

Seconds later the bell chimed, and the man Edward presumed to be their teacher strode into the room.

_Fucking shit._

It was worse, this time, than it had been with Mr. Hughes that morning. Mr. Mustang, who was now standing at the head of the classroom, wore a simple combination of khakis and a white button up, as well a small smile, glimmering dark eyes, and a disheveled head of blackest hair.

Izumi and Alphonse had done their best, all summer, to tell him these thoughts, these stupid fucking _feelings_ , were normal. That everyone else in CCHS was the problem, not Edward. He didn’t believe them.

So, Ed simply continued the day’s trend of ignoring things, averted his eyes to focus on the chalkboard and _only_ the chalkboard, and listened as the teacher began to speak. “Good afternoon, everyone. I hope your first day back has been going well. My name is Mr. Mustang, and for the rest of this year I’ll be teaching you all the finer points of chemistry.”

Huh. Sounded like this guy was _actually_ going to talk about something that mattered. All day (with the exception of Ms. Armstrong’s class), Edward had been subjected to get-to-know-you speeches, or dumb syllabi that were more about being respectful, paying attention, and attendance than they were about the subjects at hand. Intrigued, now, Ed allowed himself to look back at his teacher.

“As a prerequisite, all of you have taken regular level chemistry,” Mr. Mustang continued, hands in his pockets. “While that is a good building block, I must warn you that this class is an AP level, and will be considerably more challenging. Chemistry is a delicate mix of science and mathematics, and while extremely rewarding, it also requires focus. This will not be a class you can waltz into and expect to pass without dedication.” _Wow_ , Ed thought. _Someone takes this a little too seriously_.

“So!” Mr. Mustang withdrew his hands, clapping them together. “Let’s not waste any time, shall we?” Turning and leaning over his desk, the man pulled out a stack of papers. He spun around once more to face them, deftly hand the pile to Edward. “Pass those back, would you?”

Ed did as he was bid, grabbing one sheet and then handing the rest off to the guy next to him. Looking down, Edward saw that he was not holding a syllabus, but a safety contract. “I know you’ve all likely seen these before,” Mr. Mustang explained, “but unfortunately I am required to have you all read and sign them. The basic gist is to not be an idiot in the lab, but I’ll give you a few minutes to go over this. If you’ve any questions, feel free to speak up.”

The contract itself was quite short and bare bones. Must wear closed toed shoes—easy, considering the uniform—must wear goggles and gloves, must not ingest chemicals, must not throw chemicals at other students. Just like Mr. Mustang had said…don’t be an idiot. Science was dangerous, and all that. Edward scrawled his signature across the bottom of the sheet, the scratching of his pen echoed by those of students around the room.

Perhaps a minute later, Mr. Mustang requested the papers be passed back up. Slowly the stack made its way around the room, back into Ed’s hands. He was about to place his own contract on top, when he was distracted by a sticky note that had been added to the topmost paper. Or rather, the crudely drawn dick that was etched upon it. Heat rose into his face, but before he could do or say anything, Mr. Mustang had taken the contracts from him.

Surprisingly, the teacher did nothing more than raise his eyebrows at the drawing before tearing it off and crumpling it in his palm. Mr. Mustang threw the ball into the wastepaper basket beside his desk, and then carried on as though everything were completely normal. “Thank you, everyone. Now, I’ve never seen the sense in a syllabus—you all will just throw them out, in any case. But I do want to establish a few things about how I run my classroom.”

It dawned on Ed, then. This guy _got it_ ; he knew that bringing attention to the drawing would only fuel the fires of whoever had drawn it. If Mr. Mustang discussed the doodle, it became a whole thing. But by ignoring it entirely, the man diffused the situation almost before there was one. Plus, though Edward doubted his teacher was aware the dick was directed at him, it minimized his embarrassment.

Okay. Respect.

“I am fully aware,” Mr. Mustang began, “that very few—if any—of you will end up pursuing a career in chemistry. They aren’t entirely common, and I’ve learned that for the most part students take my course just for the sake of the credit. That’s perfectly fine by me. Whether you are passionate about chemistry in particular, or you’ll need to understand the basics of it for another career, or you just want the GPA boost an AP class can give you…it doesn’t matter.”

Edward found himself losing focus quickly. He tapped his pencil rhythmically against his arm, trying to keep his attention from wandering entirely. After all, seated right in front of Mr. Mustang as he was, it was a little harder to get away with zoning out than in his other classes.

“What does matter is that you get what you need from this course,” the man went on, pacing slowly back and forth at the head of the classroom. “That’s where I come in. Some of you may have heard that I can be a strict teacher, and that’s true. I believe that discipline aids in understanding. That being said, I also like to think of myself as a compassionate instructor. If you don’t understand something, I want to know. If you have questions or need to go over a concept again, I’d like you all to feel comfortable _telling_ me. I expect that you put in the work for this class, yes, but I’ll meet you halfway.”

The respect Ed had felt moments ago was quickly slipping away. Sure, Mr. Mustang sounded like he meant well enough…but he also sounded so _painfully_ full of himself. And he was still talking.

“You can expect a decent amount of lab work from my class, since a practical application helps most students learn more effectively than merely reading a theory. I’m sure you’ll all be happy to hear I assign little homework compared to my colleagues; that’s not to say there won’t be _any_ , just that my goal isn’t to completely overwhelm you. If it’s necessary, you’ll have homework. If not, you won’t. Simple as that. So…any questions?” Mr. Mustang looked around the room. Edward might have been imagining things, but it seemed like those dark eyes didn’t miss a beat, like they were a little _too_ observant.

No one spoke up. Really, what were a bunch of kids supposed to say to a weird speech like that? Unbothered, the teacher only nodded. “Right then. You’ve got a few minutes left this bell, so feel free to talk amongst yourselves. Be ready to begin learning tomorrow.”

With that, Mr. Mustang stepped back to sit at his desk. He pulled a few papers towards him and began examining them, glancing up every once in a while when someone spoke particularly loudly. Edward leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles. Some were stained, and others were full of holes. The rest of the school was, surprisingly, quite neat and tidy. CCHS didn’t like to give off the impression of anything other than a perfect academic setting. But the ceiling tiles had been forgotten, or else no one ever looked up long enough to notice them. They gave away the school’s age, the messy parts of it that were better left unnoticed.

Ed was getting good at this whole not-paying-attention-to-the-world thing. It seemed like mere minutes before the bell sounded, signaling to them all they should be heading to their seventh and final class. Unhurried, Edward allowed everyone else to exit before standing up, his chair scraping the floor. He’d made it to the door before Mr. Mustang spoke behind him.

“Edward.”

It struck him as immediately odd that the teacher would know who he was. Although, he had made seating charts; Ed supposed the man could have learned everyone’s names while doing so. Still, compared to the other teachers in the building who would need two months to get their student’s names down, it was…different, to say the least. Edward turned his head, body still facing out the door. He had only one period left, and he was more than ready to get the day over with and go home. “Yeah?”

Mr. Mustang peered at him over his papers, stare still feeling more comprehensive than Ed was prepared for. “Your tie is quite loose. You ought to fix that before someone more rigid than myself decides to say something.” Having said his piece, the teacher looked back down to whatever it was he was working on, thoroughly dismissing Edward.

Letting out a snort of derision, Ed reached a hand up to his neck and undid his tie altogether. Amongst all the things that _that_ had changed, Edward still did not like being told what to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Of all the classes to be worried about on his first day back at CCHS, Edward should have known to place gym at the top of his list.

When he first entered the gymnasium, tossing his bookbag to the side and taking a seat on the bleachers, Ed’s biggest concern had simply been the teacher. Mr. Armstrong was nothing at all like his sister; instead he was energetic, outgoing, and almost flamboyant. Somehow, despite his obsession over masculine physique, he’d avoided the same stigmatism that was currently haunting Edward. Though, to be fair, Mr. Armstrong wasn’t necessarily gay, he was just…enthusiastic. Besides, the teacher had a strange ability to seem to appear out of thin air whenever his name was mentioned, so maybe that stopped the student body from speculating about his sexuality.

Edward had been taken gym (as a “health requirement”) each of the previous three years of his high school experience, so he’d encountered Mr. Armstrong before. He knew full well that the teacher didn’t believe in wasting a single second that could be used to enhance the body, so they’d be dressing down for gym today despite it being the start of the school year.

It was only when that realization crossed his mind that Ed understood how much shit he was in for.

As predicted, Mr. Armstrong scarcely waited for the bell to ring before striding out of his office. Shirtless, because his musculature was “the perfect way to inspire the students.” Frankly, Ed had no idea how the instructor got away with that. A few stragglers were still making their way to the bleachers when Mr. Armstrong’s booming voice redirected them.

“Oh ho! Welcome, everyone—no need to sit around being lazy, you all go ahead to the locker rooms and get dressed! Today we will assess your beginning fitness levels so you each can set goals for the year!”

Standing up again, Edward thought vaguely that Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Hughes would be great friends, seeing as they both appeared to have boundless energy. Shockingly, he made it all the way to the door of the locker rooms before someone objected. Loudly _and_ physically.

Ed knew of the kid—Klaus—who had just stepped in front of him, blocking his way through the doors, though he didn’t know him personally. Apparently, that didn’t matter to Klaus, because he was half-shouting in his face, “Nuh uh, nope, you are _not_ coming in here to creep on everyone else.”

There was that burning sensation again, in his face and down his throat, all the way into his chest. Edward really, _really_ wished he believed in a higher power, because praying would have been nice right then. As it was, Ed had no real choice other than to try to logic with his classmate. The chances of that panning out were small, but Klaus was a big kid. Edward wasn’t going to get around him without violence, and he didn’t want to be just as unpopular with the faculty of CCHS as he was with the student body. “Listen,” Ed sighed, not looking Klaus in the eye lest that be even more offensive than his mere existence. “I’m just trying to do as I’m told and get changed. I’m not going to ‘creep’ on _anyone_.”

Just as suspected, that got Edward absolutely nowhere. Klaus curled his upper lip, disgust coloring his tone, “Right, like you expect me to believe that, you fucking fairy. No one here wants to be part of your spank bank.”

_I don’t have a spank bank anymore and even if I did, your bigoted ass wouldn’t be in it. I just want to change, do some pushups, and go home._ Ed opened his mouth, not knowing what words would emerge—but he didn’t get the chance to find out. Voice echoing around the gymnasium, Mr. Armstrong at that moment noticed the conflict and decided to intervene. “Boys, what seems to be the problem? We don’t have time to dilly-dally when fitness is on the line!”

Klaus was quick to answer the teacher’s question, speaking openly and brazenly. Why wouldn’t he? Consequences apparently didn’t exist for homophobes in CCHS. “Ed’s a _faggot_ , Mr. Armstrong.” A nice, simple statement, as though that explained every problem he could possibly have with Edward.

Mr. Armstrong, however, was unimpressed. His mustache quivered with the passion of his response. “So? Every race, gender, and sexuality can exercise!” Amazing, how one track the man’s mind was. Edward wished fervently that the gym floor would just crack open and swallow him whole. Unfortunately, the universe cared very little for his whims, and the ground stood solid.

Seeming similarly exasperated with their teacher (though for very different reasons), Klaus only dug in his heels further. “We don’t want him, y’know, _looking_ at us,” he complained, casting a venomous look in Ed’s direction. “C’mon, Mr. Armstrong, we shouldn’t have to be harassed just because he’s a freak.”

For one brief millisecond, Edward actually thought that maybe—just maybe—this time someone would stand up for him. Of course, he was wrong. Mr. Armstrong blinked twice, before shouting out his gleeful reply, “Well, then! Edward here can change in my office, problem solved!”

_Not_ my _problem_ , Ed thought bitterly. At least Klaus seemed satisfied; he nodded and turned back into the changing room, from which whoops and laughs began to echo. This sort of treatment didn’t surprised Edward, not anymore, but it did hurt. Mr. Armstrong was turning away, considering his job done, when Ed skipped in front of the teacher’s path.

“Mr. Armstrong. Listen. I know fitness is important.” Step number one, suck up. Sympathize. Edward was going to have to lay it on thick to get what he wanted, but if he had to stay in this stupid building for one more minute he was going to scream. “I run every single day, just for fun! But I really, _really_ can’t do this sh—this today.”

His teacher, somehow, seemed shocked that Ed could even be considering anything other than getting ready for gym class. “Now, Edward, being healthy is imperative! Besides, you’ll feel better once you start sweating!”

“If I promise to run an extra mile tonight, can I go? Please?” Ed added, voice cracking just a little. An unintentional touch, but hopefully it would help his case. “I’ll be back at it tomorrow. Please.”

Evidently, begging was the way to get through to the man. Mr. Armstrong shrugged his massive shoulders in defeat. “Alright, Edward. But only this once—after today, you can still use my office to change. And then we can put some meat on your bones!”

The last words went almost unheard by Ed, who’d spun around and started jogging out of the gymnasium as soon as “alright” had left his teacher’s mouth. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to just go home, but Edward did still care about one thing: his little brother. And they’d promised to meet out front at the end of the day.

Peering through empty halls, keeping an eye out for any teachers who might question his wandering, Ed detoured for an emergency exit. A quick glance to tell him the coast was clear, and he pushed open the heavy double doors. That first breath of fresh air, of wind and sunlight and _not_ being inside, almost made him cry.

Leisurely, now, Edward meandered around the side of the hulking CCHS building. After all, he had an entire period to kill. Before long he’d made it to the front of the school and sat himself down in the grass beside the stone stairs leading to the entrance. Ed leaned his head against them, closing his eyes. The sun shone red through his eyelids, keeping him awake. Good. As appealing as the idea of sleep was, the reality of it was nothing more than nightmares.

Being awake was just as bad, though…so what was the difference, exactly?

Edward sighed. He’d not even made it a full day. How in the world was he going to survive the rest of the year? And to have two classes with Winry! That just wasn’t fair. Mr. Hughes’s class was bound to be torture, with its “open forum” format. He’d rather just sit and take a boring quiz any day. Of course, last year Ed would have been ecstatic at the idea that he had a class where he could debate theories. Now, though…well, he’d just have to participate as little as possible.

Then there was Mr. Mustang’s class. Really, that was a toss-up; if he didn’t have to do any lab work with a group, he’d be fine. Edward could handle working alone. Even if he had to partner up with anyone other than Winry, it would suck, but he could get through it. But if Ed had to work with her…he shook his head at the thought. In a class of almost thirty people, the chances of that were small. He’d learned he couldn’t trust people, but hopefully statistics wouldn’t fail him, too.

That just left gym. Really, Edward reflected, being barred from the changing room had been humiliating. It made him feel unwanted (which he was), like trash (ditto). But now he’d just have to change in Mr. Armstrong’s office. Not ideal, and he was bound to take some ribbing for it, but Ed had heard worse. And that at least meant he wouldn’t have to be surrounded by naked guys…

_Nope!_ Edward cut that train of thought off almost instantly, opening his eyes and clenching his fists into the soft grass. It gave way easily; if only his mind was so effortlessly moldable. _You don’t think that way anymore_ , Ed reminded himself.

On edge once again, Edward pushed himself back into a standing position, and began to pace around the front lawn of CCHS. “Lawn” was a generous word for it, but that’s what it was called. Really, it was a ten-foot-wide strip of grass between the stairs and the sidewalk, and a tree on either side. Close enough, right?

He’d not realized how much time had passed, and the chime of the bells within the school made Ed jump. The day was over, then. Quickly, Edward walked over to one of the trees, leaning against it. Alphonse would know to be looking for him, but with any luck at all the shade from the leaves above Edward would keep him from drawing too much attention to himself.

It worked, for the most part. As first a trickle, then a tide of students exited the building, only a few rude gestures were thrown his way. And then Al was there, heading his way with less pep in his step than Ed had expected.

“Hey, Al.”

“Hello, Brother.” Alphonse didn’t even stop walking, as Edward fell in with him effortlessly. “How was it for you?”

Ed considered the question carefully. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that his being fucked up really bothered Al—Izumi and her husband, Sig, too. After that, it had taken even less time for Edward to decide he needed to be a little less than honest about his feelings. “Not good,” he admitted, “but I think today was the worst. Now I at least know what I’m walking in to. You?”

Alphonse sighed, grasping the straps of his backpack. “Also not good. I thought after the summer, people would have stopped asking me about you. I was wrong.”

The words hit Edward like he was getting punched. As if it wasn’t enough for him to suffer, his brother had to be dragged into it as well. He had a good idea of the sorts of questions Al was being asked. “How do you feel safe around him?” was probably the worst one. Like Ed would think _that_ way about his own brother. And of course, besides the questions was the ever popular taunt of, “You must be a fag, too!”

Taking a deep breath to stabilize himself, Edward murmured out, “I’m sorry.” There was nothing more he could say, and nothing he hadn’t said last year when this all started.

“It’s not your fault, Brother.” Al’s response was prompt as ever. It was amazing that a piece of shit like him could have a brother that was so steadfast and caring. Edward often thought that if he loved himself half as much as Alphonse did, he’d be able to do anything.

They didn’t speak on the topic any further, as the brothers made their way back home. Al prattled on about how he already had homework, but it was all nonsense. Edward teased him about being overeager for real work. Almost like normal.

That is, until they made it back to their house. Izumi lived modestly, so it wasn’t a large home, but it was cozy. Unless their adoptive mother was on the warpath. To be fair, when Alphonse unlocked the door and walked in, Edward in tow, it wasn’t like they were in trouble. But Ed, at least, _was_ being interrogated.

“My boys! How did everything go? Was everyone civil? Edward, you didn’t get in any trouble, did you? I don’t need to report anything to the principal, do I?”

That was Izumi. Overbearing. She did her best, and Ed loved her more than anyone (besides Al, of course). But he did _not_ need to rehash the day he’d just had. Escaping with a mumbled, “One sec, I have to pee,” Edward dropped his bag on the hallway floor and fled to the bathroom.

Once there, Ed did not, in fact, head for the toilet. Rather, he stood, bracing himself against the white porcelain of the sink. Slowly, ever so slowly, Edward raised his head to look himself in the eyes.

They were gold, as always. But they had a haunted edge, now, that Ed had gained over the last year. Looking back at old pictures, it shocked him, how alive his eyes looked. Now, when he saw at himself, Edward seemed like a zombie. Ed wondered if Izumi and Sig and Al could see it, too.

When everything had first gone down, Edward had thought about killing himself. But that would have hurt his family too much, and they didn’t deserve to be punished for his perversion. His next thought had been to cut himself. The only thing was, that wouldn’t _solve_ anything. Where do you cut yourself to change your sexuality?

His fingers pushed against the solid weight of the sink. Unbending, unbroken. What was that like?

“Ed! Are you alright in there?” Izumi’s call was probing. She was no fool, and likely could tell—despite his best efforts—that Edward was not, in fact, alright.

“Fine,” he called back. Breaking eye contact with himself, Edward leaned over and flushed the toilet, then turned on the sink for a few moments. He gathered what strength he had left and turned back to the door.

What happened, he wondered, when that strength ran out? How long did he have left?

Time to put on a brave face for Izumi and stop thinking.


	4. Chapter 4

On his first day back to CCHS, Edward had thought returning to school would be a like a nightmare. Not fun to endure, but possible, and he would be able to come out the other side. After his first week, Ed was beginning to think he wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —make it that far.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t even the jeers and the taunts that made everything feel so impossible. Yes, every day someone hurled a new slur at Edward, and he’d been tripped and pushed around a bit in the halls, but he’d prepared himself for that. It wasn’t fun, but Ed had braced himself, and he could handle all that. Winry, thank goodness, had gone about ignoring him in their two shared classes, so even though seeing her face made Edward feel a little sick, he could deal with that, too.

What he couldn’t seem to get past was himself. Ed was alone and scared all the time, and he frankly didn’t know how to cope.

Last year, right after _that_ , Edward’s initial response had been anger. Frustration. And, okay, yes, violence. The principal, Mr. Bradley, had made it very clear that punching the lights out of someone who called him a faggot was not acceptable. Ed would have thought that being homophobic was also wrong—apparently not. The threat of expulsion should he continue to have his “outbursts” put Edward firmly in his place.

After a summer of readjusting his thought process, of coming to terms with the fact that _he_ was the problem, all the fight had been sucked out of Ed. Now, instead of being resentful, he either felt like dying or felt strangely unreal, like he was a ghost floating through the halls of an otherwise lively school.

Worst of all was his complete and utter lack of ambition. Last year, Edward had been the top of his class. Last year, he’d been studious and focused. This year…Ed could barely listen to what his teachers had to say, let alone throw himself into his learning.

Surprisingly, for most classes he was skating by (so far). In Mr. Hughes’s class, they’d begun the year by reading and discussing _Hamlet._ The worst thing Edward had been forced to do was read a soliloquy aloud. In Ms. Armstrong’s Latin class, there was no discussion or opinion; mostly it was verb conjugation. Having taken Latin for the last three years, doing so was almost like muscle memory for Ed. He’d slipped up once or twice, but nothing enough to be detrimental.

Mrs. Elliot had been a wild card, but it took Edward all of two classes to realize that as long as you spat her own opinions back at her, the teacher would be happy. This was a skill Ed had learned in the aftermath of _that_ , so it came naturally by now.

Mr. Tucker and Mr. Falman both seemed to prefer having their students engage in quiet work rather than lecture on and on. The biology worksheets weren’t terribly difficult for Edward—it was a subject he’d been interested in for a while—but the calculus ones were much harder. He used to be good at math, but now he found himself more and more getting absolutely lost in the numbers. The last set of problems Mr. Falman assigned for homework read more like another language than simple equations. Ed had a feeling he’d have to start getting used to seeing a bright red “B” or “C” at the top of his assignments, rather than the “A” that used to be his constant feedback.

And then there was Mr. Mustang and his stupid chemistry class. No other teacher had commented on Edward’s mediocre work and lackluster presence besides him. But Mr. Mustang seemed to be discontent with Ed’s silence in the classroom, with his modest results on the lab they’d done the third day of class.

At the moment, it was the wee hours of Saturday morning. Edward was lying on his bed in Izumi’s house. Al slept soundly across the room. The darkness of the night, the faint summer breeze through his open window…they should have lulled him to sleep, too. Ed should have been resting easy with the knowledge that he didn’t have to return to that stupid fucking school until Monday. Instead, he couldn’t stop thinking. Of course, the one time he didn’t want or need it to, his brain was working overtime. Edward just couldn’t quit replaying that instant, at the end of chemistry, when Mr. Mustang called him out…

* * *

_Who the fuck gave a quiz the first week of school? Edward had wondered that at least three times as he worked his way through the questions before him. To be fair, it was coming from the same asinine teacher who thought day three was the proper time for a lab experiment. It, like the quiz he was currently taking, had been about pure substances vs. mixtures. In theory, it was a pretty simple concept, but Edward kept over-complicating things. A heterogeneous mixture had different components you could see—but what if you needed a microscope to see them? How much did you have to magnify something before the components were considered “indistinguishable?”_

_Whatever. It didn’t matter, really. After the week he’d had, Ed was resigning himself to the fact that he was just not as competent as he used to be. If he couldn’t even handle a quiz like this, he’d never be a scientist. Might as well accept that and start considering his backup plan._

_Giving up like that made Edward’s heart ache. He filled out the last couple of questions quickly, unthinkingly. If his gut reactions were right, great; if not, so be it. Ed rose from his seat, wincing as the chair squealed on the linoleum flooring. Hastily, he took the few steps forward necessary to reach his teacher’s desk. Mr. Mustang’s eyes rose from the book he was reading to meet Edward’s own. Wordlessly, the teacher reached out and took the quiz from Ed’s outstretched hand. Much to his dismay, Mr. Mustang set immediately to grading the paper—Edward hadn’t realized he was the first to finish. Not wanting to watch the man point out the mistakes he’d no doubt made, Ed spun quickly on his heels, falling back into his chair with little grace._

_Suddenly exhausted, Edward folded his arms on his tiny desk, placing his head against his forearms. This close up, he could examine the swirls in the wood with ease. They made him nauseous. Or maybe that was just the knowing creeping up on him—knowing he wasn’t as special as he’d once been told. Not as smart as he’d thought he was. Ed closed his eyes against the nagging in his mind. At least he had gym next bell. Nothing like some sprints to knock him out of his own head._

_Edward stayed like that for the duration of the class, barely registering when his fellow students began to follow suit in handing in their quizzes. Surely at least one of them had to have struggled like Ed had. It was a small consolation, but better than nothing._

_The bell that rang sometime later felt distant, like the sound was traveling through water. His legs seemed to push him upright without conscious thought, and then Edward was gathering his things. Ready to go. Except, Mr. Mustang had other ideas._

_Just as the teacher had on Ed’s first day of school, Mr. Mustang stopped him with nothing more than his name. “Edward.” And just like the previous time, Ed turned halfheartedly, his body language making it abundantly clear that he would prefer to leave._

_“Hmm?”_

_However, apparently Mr. Mustang required more than just a quick word. “Come here, please.” With the request, the teacher beckoned Edward closer with a deft hand. Groaning inwardly, Ed turned and stepped forward. What could it be, now? As though Mr. Mustang had read his mind, he answered the question. “I’d like to talk to you about the quiz today, Edward.”_

_“Do we have to?” The words came out in a hurry, unexpected even to Ed himself. Embarrassed now, heat rushing to his face, he explained, “I have gym next. With Mr. Armstrong. He’ll lose it if I’m late.”_

_Mr. Mustang nodded, understanding deepening the dark color of his eyes. “I’ll write you a note.” Ah. Apparently, just because he recognized Edward’s concerns, he wouldn’t be releasing him so easily. “Pull up a chair for a moment.”_

No, I don’t think I will. I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to talk to you or look at your stupid face. I wish you were ugly, and I wish I didn’t have to think that. _But despite the biting words in his head, Ed grabbed the chair he’d so recently vacated, lifting it fully off the ground so it didn’t make any more wretched noise. Placing it as far as he could from the teacher without seeming odd, Edward settled in, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. It was a defensive posture, and Ed knew that, but he doubted very much this was going to be a pleasant conversation. So, yeah, he was defensive._

_“You did fine,” Mr. Mustang began, grabbing a paper—Ed’s paper—off his desk and handing it over without ever breaking eye contact. Smooth motherfucker. With some trepidation, Edward took the quiz back, his gaze focusing on the small, exact letter in the top left corner. “A ‘B’ is quite good, realistically,” the teacher went on. “Normally I would have nothing to say about that.”_

_Unable to help himself, Ed let out a sarcastic, “But?” Why was it that all the fight he’d lost over the summer had to come back when he was talking with a_ teacher _? He needed to bite his tongue._

_Mr. Mustang merely rose an eyebrow at the tone. “_ But _, I know that you can do better, Edward.”_

_That simple statement made Ed want to laugh. He didn’t do that much, now, and he knew if he did it would be a hollow excuse of a sound. The situation was just so ridiculous. “Mr. Mustang, not to be an a—not to be rude, but how could you know that? You met me a week ago. I’ve hardly said a word to you. You don’t know me.”_

_Brow furrowing, now, his teacher examined Edward, eyes searching. It made him uncomfortable, itchy. What was he looking for? There was nothing to find but defeat and disappointment. “I know that last year your grades were exemplary,” Mr. Mustang began, speaking slowly. Watching for any reaction that Ed might have. “More than that, in fact. Your scholarly history speaks volumes, Edward. You’re incredibly bright.”_

_The man was waiting for an answer, now. Only shrugging, Edward muttered, “Those were easier classes. I guess I’m just not as smart as you think I am.”_

_“Oh, but you are.” The words almost made Ed jump in his seat. Mr. Mustang, conversely, leaned back into his own (much more comfortable) chair, clasping his hands together. “Judging from the quiz I just graded, your problem is one of confidence, not intelligence. On all of the questions you missed, you_ almost _gave the correct answer. It looks to me like you’re merely overthinking and second-guessing yourself. You must have noticed you finished the quiz first—even though you didn’t get everything right, your mind acted quickly.”_

_Ed thought it strange, how easily Mr. Mustang put his finger on the thought processes that had plagued him during the quiz. But he wasn’t done speaking, not just yet. “Edward, you have it in you to be acing my class with ease.”_

_Pinpricks in the corners of his eyes had Ed looking down at his lap. He was glad, now, that he’d kept his hair long; his bangs fell over his face and stopped Mr. Mustang from seeing the hurt there. The last thing Edward needed was a reminder that he wasn’t living up to expectations. A reminder that he should be better, but that somewhere along the right path he’d been derailed. Gone from straight and smart to gay and struggling. He didn’t dare look back up into those too-observant eyes of his teacher, so Ed spoke to his tensed legs. “I’ll try harder, okay? Can I go now?”_

_Every fiber of his being expected Mr. Mustang to refuse. But the bell rang again, and he apparently was struck with a bit of pity. “Of course. Just think about what I said. And let me give you that note—I know Mr. Armstrong. Wouldn’t want him to punish you because of me.”_

_Standing quickly, as though if he moved too slowly the teacher might change his mind, Edward placed his chair back in its usual position. He’d planned to keep his eyes down, but as Mr. Mustang handed him a note of explanation, Ed glanced back up. There was no good reason to do so, but he did anyway, and almost choked. Mr. Mustang didn’t look reproachful, or disappointed, or disgusted. He looked sympathetic. It had been a long time since anyone besides his family had looked at Edward like that, but he chalked it up to imagination. After all, why would Mr. Mustang feel bad for him? It wasn’t like he wasn’t to blame…_

* * *

Edward pulled himself with difficulty from the memory. He brought the heels of his hands up to his eyes, rubbing them in circles until he saw stars in his lids. No, Mr. Mustang hadn’t looked sympathetic. That was just Ed’s wishful thinking.

Speaking of which, he shouldn’t be _thinking_ of the teacher at all. Even in the unpleasant memory, Edward had focused all too much on Mr. Mustang’s appearance. It was awful; with the other students at CCHS, Ed could just not look at them. If he didn’t see them, he couldn’t think anything inappropriate, and besides, everyone else seemed to prefer if Edward didn’t make eye contact. But it was, to Ed’s dismay and despite his best efforts, simply not possible to never look at his teachers.

Fists clenching, Edward berated himself. _You do not think that way. You do not. Mr. Hughes and Mr. Falman and especially Mr. Mustang…you find them all repulsive._ His fingernails, even though they were bitten down to the quick, were digging into his palms. Over the summer this had happened so much that Ed was left with little half-moon marks that never quite went away. With effort, he relaxed his grip.

Clearly, Ed wasn’t going to get any sort of sleep. It was always like this, now; either he couldn’t stop thinking long enough to get some rest, or it was all he could do to stay awake for an hour. Today was going to be the former, so why pretend otherwise? Slipping quietly from his covers, Edward lowered himself to the floor. It was only with practice that he’d perfected the art of exercising in silence. He’d start with crunches and then move to push-ups, and when the sun started to peek through the window Ed would get a shower. Izumi would wake up shortly after and think nothing of Edward also being awake. Sig would follow suit, and then finally Al.

And they’d all go about their day like everything was normal and fine.


	5. Chapter 5

Sunlight filtered through sheer white curtains, only to land squarely onto Roy’s face. Why had they bought those curtains, again? What was the point, if the light could still make it in? Then again, it was probably a good thing. Rolling over, it was with chagrin that Roy realized he’d (once again) slept longer than intended. More importantly, longer than his wife had. Her side of the bed was cold; she’d been up for a while, then. Whenever it wasn’t a school day, Roy had this problem. He always resolved himself to just suck it up, drink an extra coffee, and rise with the sun to beat Riza to the kitchen. To be fair, a few times he’d managed to do just that, but for the most part he simply couldn’t escape the comfortable confines of their duvet. Roy just wasn’t an early riser.

Stretching, he sat up slowly, savoring the last vestiges of a good night’s rest. Roy rotated his neck and shoulders, working out the kinks. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Roy heaved himself up and padded across the plush carpet to the bathroom. As a result of the school mornings he had to work, Roy had made a habit of showering at night before bed. Riza—as was evidenced by her boundless energy even on the weekends—was more of an early bird and showered before dawn on school days in order to “start fresh.” To keep everything in sync, she did the same on the weekends. It was a mystery to Roy, how her showers never managed to rouse him.

Going about his usual morning routine, Roy took a quick leak before brushing his teeth. After that, he splashed hot water onto his face, something that served to shock the sleep out of him. Quick enough. Walking back into the connecting bedroom, Roy made his way to his dresser, selecting underwear and almost grabbing a pair of socks before remembering it was his day off. No proper shoes today, thank you very much.

No proper pants, either. It had been a source of conflict, early in their marriage, that Roy preferred loungewear on his days off. Riza felt that just because they were at home didn’t mean they shouldn’t look presentable. Roy felt that he spent five days a week looking presentable and that should be enough. Of course, it was all water under the bridge now.

They had more important things to argue about, after all.

Shaking his head to clear away the negative thoughts, Roy pulled a plain white shirt over his head. The tugging motion reminded him that he’d forgotten to neaten his hair. Quickly, he remedied that fact with his fingers, combing through his black mop easily enough. Unless he used product, his hair never sat perfectly, but it was good enough.

Now that he was awake and focused, Roy could smell the bacon Riza was cooking in the kitchen. She always waited for him to get up to make breakfast, so that they could eat together. It was a kind gesture that made Roy ache with affection for his wife. She deserved so much.

Sheepishly, though he knew she wouldn’t complain after so many years of his sleeping in, Roy meandered through the hall of their modest home and into the kitchen. “Morning, Riza.”

His wife, busy at the stovetop, turned her head to greet him. When she smiled like that, and with her hair down, Roy was reminded of the Riza he’d known in his youth. “Good morning, Roy. Sit down—breakfast is almost ready.”

Roy, however, did not sit down, instead heading over to the cabinets to grab some plates and silverware for the both of them. He figured it was the least he could do; if Riza was going to cook for him, he could prepare their places at the table. Only once the task was complete did Roy take his seat.

He itched, already, to grab the newspaper. Or his lesson plans. Only with difficulty did Roy resist the temptation to fill the silence with the shuffle of papers. He’d spend breakfast with his wife, the way he should.

Minutes later, Riza was dumping piles of bacon onto his plate (slightly less onto her own), along with some eggs he’d not even noticed her scrambling. She removed her apron with quick, tidy movements, and sat down across from him. Unable to wait, Roy dug into his meal with gusto, and for a time the only sound in their cozy dinette was that of forks scraping against rapidly emptying plates. It was Riza who spoke first, after a sip of the coffee she’d brought to the table as well. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” Roy replied, hurriedly swallowing his mouthful before elaborating. “The first week always hits me the hardest.”

Riza nodded in understanding. “I like the first week back,” she commented. “It’s fun to see the old students again, and the new faces are always nice, too. It’s like a family reunion.”

Chuckling at that, Roy gulped down the last of his eggs, washing them down with coffee. Sometimes it felt like he drank more of the stuff than he did water. “That’s easy for you to say! You don’t see the little hellions in class. They say their good mornings to you and then you can be rid of them.”

His wife raised her eyebrows at that, peering at him over the rim of her mug with those bright brown eyes. “That bad, huh?”

Standing, Roy collected their dishes as he pondered an answer. Was it so bad? No, otherwise he would have quit teaching long ago. Mechanically, well used to washing the dishes, he sprayed them down and began to scrub away the lingering bacon grease. “No, I suppose not,” he finally answered. “They’re not all bad, at least. My first class is rowdier than the second. But once they settle down, they do just fine. My other class…they’re more studious, so far.”

“How’d they all do on that quiz you surprised them with yesterday? You’re always so hard on those students of yours.”

Roy was surprised by the question. Usually, Riza preferred not to discuss his work. He supposed she was trying to be nice, and the kind thing to do would be to give a short response and move on to less touchy subjects. But she’d unintentionally struck a chord with him. “Most of them did very well—it’s a comparatively simple subject we’re working on, so I wasn’t being as mean as you think. One kid in my first bell, Marcus, he got every question right. He also drew doodles on every inch of unused paper. They’re quite good, actually. In my sixth period class, a girl named Winry tried _too_ hard. She did well, but her answers were overexplained beyond the point of necessity. I think she’s focused on impressing me, rather than on the material. And then…”

Trailing off, Roy finished with the dishes, placing them in a rack to dry. With a sigh, he made his way back over to the table where his wife was waiting, plopping down into his still-warm seat. “What is it?” Riza asked, brows knitted together.

“Edward,” Roy murmured. He coughed, raising his voice to give his wife a proper answer. “Edward Elric.”

The name was all he needed to say for his wife to understand. Expression thoughtful now, she placed a finger to her cheek as she recalled, “That’s the boy from last term, right? Who got in all that trouble for fighting with his classmates at the very end of the school year?”

“That’s the one.” Roy shook his head. Having the school’s secretary for a wife made him privy to lots of half-baked gossip. “The one you were surprised to see in the principal’s office. Looking at his grades before this year, he was top of everything. That kid must have studied like a madman. But he’s not said a word in my class, barely tried during the lab, and second guessed himself into a B on the quiz.”

His wife only shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, Roy. Perhaps he’s just a teenager lashing out. Maybe he’s tired of trying so hard, or maybe something’s going on at home or with a girl. There are a million reasons why a kid might start slacking when it comes to schoolwork. Especially in senior year.”

While she wasn’t wrong, exactly, the maybe answers didn’t satisfy Roy. He was too nosy, too involved a person. Riza was a great secretary; she was kind and cheerful, as well as organized and hardworking. But she was also emotionally distant, able to separate herself entirely from the job once she made it back home. Roy just couldn’t do that. He didn’t know if it was because he interacted one on one with the students, or if they were just different people in that regard.

Either way. A quick glance at the clock hanging above the sink—it was almost 10:30—told Roy it was time for him to drop the subject. Riza spent her Saturdays with a true crime group. They followed active cases within the Central police department and studied unsolved cases from across the country. Whenever he asked, Riza claimed they weren’t hurting anyone with their curiosity; in fact, there was always the potential they may be able to help the CPD. Privately, Roy thought it was a way for Riza to be close to her old goal of becoming a police officer herself. A pretty morbid way.

Smartly, he did not voice any of these thoughts aloud. “It’s getting late, Riza; you wouldn’t want the others to start without you.”

Though Roy had meant no offense in the comment, his wife’s eyes blazed brightly for an instant before she stood. Okay, maybe he could have left off the last bit. It was just funny, how the group’s meetings didn’t officially start until noon, but Riza felt the need to be there an hour early every week.

“I suppose you’re right.” Blonde hair swishing over her shoulder, Riza spun and strode out of the dinette and into the entryway. Deftly, she stepped into her shoes—she was almost out the door before Roy could stop her.

This time, the irritation in his voice was real. “Not even a kiss goodbye, then?”

Riza paused; he’d honestly half expected her to continue on her merry way. As it was, only when Roy went to her, laying a gentle hand upon her elbow, did his wife twist to give him a quick peck on the cheek. When they’d first married, that would have been a loving kiss instead, and back then her farewell wouldn’t have been so utterly emotionless. “I’ll be back in time for dinner, Roy.”

And just like that, Riza was gone. Not nearly as bothered as he realistically should have been, Roy simply locked the door behind her. He’d given up wondering what had gone wrong with them—deep down, he has some theories, but Roy much preferred to keep those notions buried.

Roy gazed through the small window in the middle of their door. He watched his wife stride purposefully to their shared car, get in, and pull away. When she had first started going to these meetings early, Roy had thought Riza had found herself a lover. A few months later, when he realized he didn’t care whether she had or not, he stopped dwelling on the thought.

Sighing into the now empty air of their house, Roy let his hand fall from the doorknob and made for his study. He’d devote a few hours to lesson plans before getting to work on laundry and dinner. After all, while Roy had a generalized lecture setup he carried over from year to year, he liked to switch up the labs and tests. Plus, after having a week to get to know his classes a little, there was always something worth tweaking.

Perhaps his first bell would benefit from a slightly looser structure. A few extra labs (single person labs—they would be less likely to rile each other up), and maybe having the students make presentations on the textbook material rather than having them listen to him. That could help get their excess energy out. And for Roy’s second class, the opposite might be true. Having them take notes and then work in groups for experiments would allow them to learn the basics and then bounce ideas off each other instead of keeping their heads down.

Briefly, as Roy settled into his well-worn leather chair, he considered whether that would help Edward excel as he should. The boy didn’t seem to interact with his classmates, so maybe the extra push would urge him to come out of his shell a little. Of course, without knowing more about what was giving such a bright kid troubles, there was no guarantee of what would help. But Roy would give it a shot.

After all, what was the harm?


	6. Chapter 6

As was only to be expected, the weekend passed with altogether to much speed, and Edward found himself facing Monday once more. After not having been able to sleep Friday and Saturday night, Ed had tried with all his might to convince Izumi to allow him to stay home, but alas. His adoptive mother wanted Edward getting his education, and she was not a woman to be argued with.

That being said, exhaustion didn’t argue with _anyone_ , it was merely a fact. Alphonse, bless his soul, understood that and had ensured Ed left the house with his clothes facing the right way out and his bag on his shoulder (and packed—his little brother had checked). Moved by this small act of kindness, though it wasn’t unusual for Al, Edward had reflected that being alive was maybe not so bad after all.

A notion that was called into question immediately upon walking into Mr. Hughes’s classroom for first period.

Even before the bells rang, Ed knew what was coming. The desks, normally arranged so as to face the front of the room, had been adjusted to form a circle around the perimeter. It was a positioning he was well familiar with…it would be a discussion day.

While Mr. Hughes had made it known this would be coming (and frequently), it still sent a shock through Edward’s dead bones. The weight that seemed to hit his shoulders the second he walked into CCHS only intensified as Ed stumbled into a free seat. The fortunate news was that it was as far from Winry—who was seated directly next to Mr. Hughes’s desk—as he could feasibly be. It had become an easy habit of his to clock her position whenever he walked into the room, so he chose the seat on instinct. Plus, it was the closest to the door, should Ed decide a quick escape was necessary. The unfortunate news was that, due to the nature of a circle, he was right across the room from both his ex and their teacher’s seat.

Too late to do anything, now. Mr. Hughes was almost skipping into his class along with the bell, his dog-eared copy of _Hamlet_ clutched in his right hand like a religious text. “Hey everyone! Hope you had a refreshing weekend, ‘cause we are _really_ digging into the good stuff today!” The teacher crossed the room quickly, his long legs clearing the various backpacks lying around with ease. Plopping down into his swivel chair, Mr. Hughes looked around the room with surprise. “Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone pull out your copies of _Hamlet_ for our very first chi-chat!”

Ed wanted to bury his head in his hands. Arms moving on autopilot, he reached into his bag and grabbed the book in question. He’d read it in its entirety, though the class was only meant to have finished the first act over the weekend. After all, it wasn’t like Edward had a social life to fill his days off with anymore. But reading something was completely different than comprehending it; Ed could tout off the basic plot, but the finer details had escaped him. With the growing trend of his failing intelligence, Edward couldn’t say he was surprised. Still, it wouldn’t make this experience any easier.

Turning to a random page within the play, Ed resolved to do his utmost to not have to speak. With any luck, Mr. Hughes would be too distracted by the points his classmates were making to realize Edward wasn’t participating.

“Alrighty!” The man in question clapped his hands together. _His hands sure looked strong…no! Focus, dammit_. “Let’s get started. I find this generally goes smoothest if I pose a subject or question to you all, and then everyone can share their opinions. Let’s just start from the beginning, shall we?” Mr. Hughes cleared his throat before consulting some note he’d stuck inside his copy. “Hamlet is first introduced to us in the second scene of act one. In it, we see he is grieving for his lost father, while his mother and Claudius seem unmoved. Why do you think this is?”

_And three, two, one_ …Right on cue, Winry piped up. When they were friends and then a couple, Edward admired her shameless devotion to her education, even if her enthusiasm was a little too much. Now, he saw it less as being studious, and more as being an insufferable teacher’s pet. “It’s obviously suspicious how easily Claudius and the queen move on. Hamlet reacts more realistically, with more emotion, and they seem almost less than human for not caring that the old king is gone. It’s an easy way for the audience to establish sympathy for Hamlet, and to creating animosity towards his family.”

Careful not to look up too far from his book, lest that catch anyone’s attention, Ed scanned the room. Was _anyone_ else going to say something, or would this be a conversation between Mr. Hughes and his pandering ex? Thankfully, after a few seconds of empty silence, Lucas piped up. “To play devil’s advocate, is it really that weird that they would move on? After all, this was written hundreds of years ago. People had shorter life spans, right? And medical science wasn’t anything like what it is today. So, for Claudius and the queen, this probably wasn’t the first death they’d gone through. Hamlet is younger, so it may be hitting him harder, but that doesn’t have to mean the other two are evil.”

Unable to resist seeing the sour look on Winry’s face, Ed looked up. Worth it. Puffing her cheeks out, his ex retorted, “That’s true, but come on. Shakespeare needs us to pick a side, here, and we aren’t supposed to pick _Claudius’s_. Besides, even if the king and queen are reacting in an appropriate way for the time, they should still understand that Hamlet would feel differently and be empathic of his sadness, instead of mocking it.”

Lucas only raised his hands up in surrender. “Hey, like I said, I was just playing the devil’s advocate.”

This time it was Paninya who spoke. Predictably, she agreed with Winry. This discussion had only just started and already Edward was feeling drained by the classroom politics. “I get where you’re coming from, Lucas, but what makes it obvious to me that Winry’s right is that the queen is Hamlet’s biological mother. She lost a husband but has immediately moved on to Claudius—the last king’s _brother_! That’s pretty messed up.”

It was, though coming from someone Edward was less than enamored by, a fair point. However, that didn’t stop Mallory from countering it. “What if it wasn’t her choice? After all, women were used as pawns all the time in those days. Maybe Claudius is a bad guy, but the queen may have been ordered to marry him…in which case, she’s just as much a victim of his as Hamlet is.”

Though he felt like his head was full of cobwebs, Edward found himself enjoying the back-and-forth. So much so that he cast his eyes about the circle of students, only to make the fateful mistake of catching Mr. Hughes’s gaze. “What do you think, Ed? Sounds like a pretty unanimous consensus that Claudius is a villain, but what about Hamlet’s mother?”

_Fuck, stupid, fuck_. Gathering his thoughts as best as he was capable of these days, Edward answered quietly, his head and eyes once more downcast. No one in the room besides his teacher wanted to hear _anything_ he had to say, after all. “I agree with Mallory,” he muttered. And, knowing full well he would be expected to elaborate, Ed pulled a somewhat coherent reasoning out of his ass. “Claudius probably ordered the queen to marry him; his allegiance with her would make him seem like a better candidate for the throne.”

From across the circle, Winry—probably angry that he’d dared to speak in what she had decided was _her_ class—sent Edward a glare so full of vitriol that he physically recoiled. Drawing into himself, Ed looked pointedly back at his copy of _Hamlet_. He would not glance up anymore, and if he possessed even the smallest bit of luck, Mr. Hughes would be happy with his one contribution to the discussion.

As though from a distance, Edward heard the conversation continue with Trevor. “Later on in the act, Horatio worries about Hamlet meeting the ghost because it might make him crazy. What if Hamlet already is a little mad, so his mother married Claudius and threw in her lot with him because she _really_ believed he would be a better king than her unstable son?” An interesting proposition, but one that Ed didn’t have the mental capacity to consider. All he could focus on was that withering look from the girl he’d once been so close to.

What exactly had he done to deserve such hatred? Okay, that was a dumb question. Edward knew his actions had started the whole debacle last year. His actions and his sexuality. Everything was his fault, but even so, had Winry not exacted her revenge? She’d thoroughly and completely mortified Ed, and turned practically everyone he knew against him. Wasn’t that enough?

Why couldn’t he just be different, be normal? The familiar wish brought mistiness to Edward’s eyes, and he buried his nose further in his book with the hope that no one would notice. Not that anyone would care if they did. Suddenly his earlier notion of escaping out the classroom door, closed but so close and inviting behind him, didn’t seem so far-fetched.

At this rate, Ed may have preferred getting expelled for fighting rather than feeling this horrible, slushy weakness every day for the rest of the year. It was too late, though; his knee-jerk response had been tempered, over the summer, and all Edward was left with was the disgust he felt for himself. That and the soul-crushing cloud of sadness that had become his companion without him noticing.

Edward needed to quit ruminating on this shit. Focusing, he brought himself back to the present and the play in his hands. Maybe he was just as deranged as Hamlet could seem.

\---

In the bustling halls of CCHS, it simply wasn’t possible to walk from one class to another without brushing up against someone else. Knowing his social status, Ed always did his best to make himself small in the corridors. If he tucked his elbows in and hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes down, Edward could minimize contact. And that was exactly what he did all day, every day; now, having just exited his Latin class, was no different. As Ed traversed the two hallways necessary to get to his next course, he bumped shoulders a couple of times, but that was normal. Perhaps he got some looks; Edward didn’t know, keeping his eyes down.

That is, until he heard a call from behind him, unquestionably directed his way. “Brother!”

Ed turned on instinct, happy surprise at encountering Alphonse after the morning he’d had bringing a faint smile to his face. It also lowered his guard just enough for a mistake. As he stopped, twisting to pinpoint his brother, his hand flew out from its careful position glued to his side…

…and connected with an unknown thigh, warm and hard.

Like lightning, understanding crackled through Edward. The smile that had just barely graced his face retreated into a grimace, and he snatched the offending arm away. Not fast enough. Ed could actually _feel_ the blood draining from his face as the student he’d hit spun around to face him. Of all the rotten fucking luck. Elijah was one of CCHS’s top athletes, towering over Edward by a foot and built like a goddamn truck. He was also one of Winry’s new friends.

“It was an accident,” Ed gasped, clutching his wrist to his chest as though by physically restraining his hand he could take back the brush of contact. “I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, I—”

His stammered apology was cut off rather thoroughly by the same leg he’d just hit coming up and slamming into Edward’s crotch. Gasping, Ed dropped to the ground, white hot pain curling in his gut. He was going to throw up. Oh, _shit_. Vaguely, he heard Elijah above him. “Don’t touch me, you fucking fag!” Heartbeat echoing in his ears, Edward saw nothing but shoes as everyone turned to see what the commotion was. He wasn’t dumb enough to think that anyone would help.

Ed was all alone in this. As another kick connected with his side, a tiny spark of the old Edward flared to life. Consequences be _damned_. He wasn’t going to lie on the ground and take a beating like a fucking dog. Ignoring the ache in his pelvis, Ed used his elbows to push himself up until he was kneeling on the linoleum flooring. Elijah reared his leg back once more, aiming high, but this time Edward was ready. Falling backwards just in time to avoid getting slammed in the face, Ed then shifted his weight, jumping back into a fully upright position.

The surprise on this numbskull’s face was _so sweet_ —and the crunch of his nose beneath Edward’s furious fist was even better. Adrenaline brought a laugh bubbling to his lips. After so many months of feeling helpless and scared and alone, this rage felt wonderful. Like an old friend.

It was not to last. As Ed wound up for another punch, his arm was caught by a firm hand. Spell utterly broken, Edward turned his head to see who’d had to bring him back down to reality. Mr. Mustang stood behind him, his fingers clasping Ed’s forearm solidly. Miraculously, his gaze was filled not with anger or disapproval, but with a strange calmness that took all the fight out of Edward as quickly as it had come. Slumping, Ed closed his eyes. He knew what would come next.

Releasing Edward, Mr. Mustang raised a single dark eyebrow, glancing at Elijah as he spoke. It wasn’t until the teacher’s voice rang out that Ed realized the hall had gone completely silent. “You two, with me.” Then, addressing the assembled students, “As for the rest of you, I believe third bell has already begun. Best be off.”

Edward knew full well where they were going. Surely Principal Bradley would have some words for him. As he fell in line behind Mr. Mustang and Elijah, Ed caught Al’s eye across the sea of unkind faces. His little brother’s eyes were wide, full to bursting with worry and guilt. With the very real possibility of being suspended or expelled hanging over his head, Edward didn’t want his last act in school to be upsetting Alphonse. So, though he didn’t believe himself, Ed mouthed to his brother, “It’s okay, Al.”


	7. Chapter 7

While the principal’s office was only a few halls and a staircase away, the walk felt an eternity long to Edward. His heart was thrumming uncomfortably fast in his chest. What would he say to Izumi? Worse, what if the school called her? Ed had never wanted his adoptive mother to have to answer the phone to that again. Swallowing hard, Edward tried to force the very notion down with the saliva. Facing her after disappointing her yet _again_ …he couldn’t even consider it.

Biting his lip, Ed studied Mr. Mustang, striding forward ahead of him with a calm confidence. Had he himself ever walked like that? But no, now wasn’t the time to get lost in horrible self-reflection. _It’s also not the time to be paying attention to how your teacher walks, you dumb fuck_.

No, what was important was what Mr. Mustang had seen. If he’d caught the entire incident, Edward had a chance. His teacher would be able to explain to Principal Bradley that Elijah started it, and that Ed was (mostly) just defending himself. If the teacher had only come once Edward had begun to fire back…well, that would look very bad indeed. Elijah, obviously, was going to pin the whole thing on him anyway. And the principal already seemed to have a bias against Ed. Really, Mr. Mustang was the only person who could provide him with leniency.

Considering he was the teacher who’d been the hardest on Edward thus far, that could be a long shot.

Well, it was time to find out. They rounded a corner to be faced with the school offices, where Mrs. Hawkeye greeted them with curious eyes. “What can I do for you all?”

Mr. Mustang gestured beyond her, towards the closed door of the principal’s office. “Is Principal Bradley busy? These two had a slight altercation downstairs.”

The secretary showed the barest hint of surprise but stood up immediately, smoothing out her pencil skirt. Those things always seemed horrendously constrictive to Edward. “No, he’s just working on some papers. Let me…” Trailing off, Mrs. Hawkeye stepped away from her desk and led the group back, knocking on the wooden door with two sharp raps like nails being driven into a coffin. “Principal Bradley? Mr. Mustang is here with some students about a scuffle.”

It was amazing how even a closed door couldn’t dampen the commanding voice of the principal. “Send them in.”

Mrs. Hawkeye nodded for them to continue onward, then moved away and back towards her desk. Edward had wondered last year, when he’d made a similar visit, if she was the kind of person to eavesdrop on what was going on in Principal Bradley’s office. The same thought crossed his mind now.

The office was entirely unchanged from the previous time Ed had been inside. Bookshelves stood tall on either side of the far wall, interspersed with various degrees and commendations the principal had earned. To the left was a connected bathroom and a clock, and to the right was a window showing a lovely view of the street outside. The rest of the room was taken up by a massive desk, which Edward personally felt was unnecessary. In front of it sat two rickety chairs, a stark contrast to the magnificent leather armchair that Principal Bradley himself occupied. One of the principal’s eyebrows rose as Ed walked in, closing the door behind him (he knew the drill), but otherwise his stoic face was unaffected. “Have a seat, boys.”

Elijah, who Edward was pleased to see had blood leaking out of his nose, took the left chair, leaving Ed the right. He lowered himself down gingerly, wincing slightly as the movement exacerbated the still-lingering ache in his lower stomach. That had been one hell of a kick.

Mr. Mustang remained standing—he didn’t have much of a choice—and situated himself between the chairs, resting a hand on the back of Edward’s. The action made Ed’s insides squirm. Was that for support, or was Mr. Mustang bestowing blame upon him? Or was he just overthinking it all?

Principal Bradley waited until they’d all settled before speaking. “So, you two got in a fight, eh? Edward, perhaps you remember—in these in these situations, I value honesty. And, it’s Elijah, correct? Elijah, you would do well to take notice of that. Who wants to tell me what happened first?”

Did it really matter? Ed cast his eyes to the side, unable to look in the principal’s mismatched stare any longer. While he didn’t make a habit of judging others for their appearance, Edward couldn’t help but be unsettled by that eyepatch.

After a few loudly silent seconds, Elijah spoke up. Ed closed his eyes against the drivel that came out of the shithead’s mouth. “It was like this, Principal Bradley, sir. I was trying to get to Spanish, just walking in the hall and—and Ed was coming the opposite direction. And he…well, he _grabbed_ me, if you catch my drift. It startled me, and I didn’t ask for _that_. I’ll admit it, I kicked him, it was instinct. Next thing I know, Ed’s just punching me over and over. Mr. Mustang had to stop him.”

The teacher in question remained silent, making Edward’s heart drop to the floor. If Mr. Mustang wasn’t arguing with that version of events, he likely hadn’t seen anything at all, and had just come to break up a fight. The bloodied nose that, moments ago had brought Ed a sick sense of satisfaction, would only serve as further condemnation for him. Perhaps that was what Elijah was counting on; his suck-up lie to the principal, plus his visible injury would be so convincing that Edward would just agree in order to try for a lesser punishment.

Well, not today. Ed was probably going to be expelled anyway, with his history of fisticuffs, so why not try to convince Principal Bradley that that was _not_ how it had gone down? Breathing deeply, Edward opened his eyes to find said principal looking pointedly at him as if to say, “Your turn.”

“Sir, that’s not what happened. I was just _walking_ , and I heard my little brother call to me from across the hall. When I turned, I accidentally brushed Elijah’s thigh.” Ed found his throat suddenly dry. “You know—well—no one wants to be touched by a faggot, okay?” The word felt harsh in his mouth and invited a rebuke from the principal.

“Language, Edward.”

“Sorry.” _He needed to go crawl in a hole and die, he’d never called himself that before and now he just felt loathsome_. No, actually, Ed needed to finish what he was saying. “So, Elijah yelled at me, insulted me, and kicked me where it hurts. I fell down, and he wouldn’t _stop_ , so yeah, I got up and hit him. Then Mr. Mustang broke everything up.”

Steepling his fingers, Principal Bradley considered the two of them. Unable to stop himself, Edward wrapped his arms around his midsection, like that would somehow protect him from whatever was about to happen. “Well, now. It seems we have two drastically varying accounts, then. Mr. Mustang, what can you tell me?”

 _Here it comes_. It took the teacher a moment to begin speaking behind Edward, and when he did his voice was unruffled and factual. “I won’t pretend I was able to see what started the confrontation; you know how crowded the hallways get. However, the first thing I heard was Elijah yelling. I was quite far away at this point, so I couldn’t hear anything specific. I saw Elijah kick first, and then again. From what I could tell, Edward only got one punch in before I got there to split them up. If you were to ask me, I would consider it self-defense.”

Ed could hardly believe his ears. Mr. Mustang was backing him up! His heart soared with hope, but he made an effort not to look so surprised. Principal Bradley was nodding, now, considering what he’d been told. Then, with one glance at Edward that made it clear he had just gotten _very_ lucky, the principal turned to Elijah. “Seems as though you’ve not only instigated a fight in my school, but that you’ve also lied about it, boy.” Without breaking eye contact with the now pale Elijah, Principal Bradley continued, “Nevertheless, Edward, you will have detention for retaliating. Friday, after school. Now, Mr. Mustang, would you be so kind as to escort Edward back to class? Elijah and I have more to discuss.”

Despite the fact that he was meant to be _escorted_ , Ed flew out of that chair, yanking the office door open and almost launching himself through it. He’d not stay a second longer, lest the principal change his mind. Detention! Edward almost laughed; he could handle _detention_. From her desk, Mrs. Hawkeye gave him a confused look before turning back to her work. Behind Ed, he heard the door to Principal Bradley’s office click shut as Mr. Mustang followed him out.

Buoyed by his light punishment, Edward turned to the teacher with more confidence than he’d had in ages. “I have Mrs. Elliot right now, just down the stairs again—”

Raising his hand to shush him, Mr. Mustang interjected, “Actually, Edward, I’m afraid you’ll be missing third bell today. I’ll send my apologies to Mrs. Elliot, but I luckily do _not_ have a class this period, and we have some things to discuss.”

Fucking hell, it was just one rollercoaster after another today, huh? Ed’s shoulders slumped unconsciously, his bookbag slipping to his elbow. What in the world could Mr. Mustang want _now_? His voice came out more petulant than he’d meant, but it was just so _stupid_. “Why?”

Mr. Mustang’s eyebrows flew up; apparently, he’d not anticipated any argument. “I don’t make a habit of explaining myself to my students, Edward. You’ll understand once we talk. Now, in case you’ve forgotten your sense of direction as well as your manners, my classroom is just down the right hall.” Without another word, the teacher began to lead the way, leaving Ed dumbfounded a few steps behind. _What an asshole!_

Upon reaching the chemistry classroom, Mr. Mustang unlocked the door with deft movements. Interesting, that the teacher kept his room barred when not in use. Not that he paid a ton of attention, but from what Edward could tell most rooms weren’t locked while the school was open.

Stepping into the room, Ed waited as Mr. Mustang settled himself easily into his chair before asking, “Would you care to take a seat?”

Well, he’d not found his precious _manners_ in the last minute, so Edward replied stiffly, arms crossed, “No, I’ll stand, thanks.”

Shrugging and appearing entirely unbothered, his teacher merely murmured, “Suit yourself. But close the door, and lock it, please.”

A strange tingle ran up the back of Ed’s spine, which he did his best to ignore. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling, but that was not the sort of thing he acknowledged. Once the door was once again secure, Edward turned back around to face his seated teacher, who began with a simple statement.

“I lied.” When that didn’t elicit a reaction, Mr. Mustang elaborated. “I lied to Principal Bradley about what I allegedly saw. The truth is, I heard shouting and came to investigate. There were so many students watching the fight that I struggled to break through. I saw nothing leading up to the struggle whatsoever.”

It felt almost as though Edward had entered some alternate reality. Mr. Mustang… _lied_ for him? Suddenly feeling unstable on his feet, Ed leaned up against the nearest desk for support. “So…you just repeated what I told him.” A chuckle escaped him, a sound not of mirth but of complete confusion. “ _Why_?”

Humming, Mr. Mustang appeared to consider that for a moment, as though he weren’t entirely sure of the answer. The teacher placed a forefinger to his temple, dark eyes unreadable. “Well,” he finally responded, “I heard both sides of the story and decided your version sounded more likely to be the truth. I taught Elijah regular level chemistry a couple of years back, and he was a rough hearted boy even then. So, his ‘poor me’ routine sounded less than genuine to my ears. As we discussed last week, you, on the other hand, seem to be an exceptional student whose problem is doubting yourself. Your testimony told me why and appeared to be sincere. Due to Elijah’s facial injury, however, I knew that Principal Bradley—who does not interact with the student body to the same degree us teachers do—would sympathize with him. As such, I made the decision to back you up.”

Edward began shaking his head about halfway through Mr. Mustang’s explanation. Unbelievable. Shock mixed with the odd hilarity of the situation made him laugh. “So—let me get this straight. You _lied_ to your _boss_ because I’m more _credible_ than Elijah was? I mean, I _was_ being honest, but that’s a hell of a risk to take for some kid that will be out of your hair in a year!”

Unexpectedly, Mr. Mustang’s gaze sharpened at that. “Yes, Edward, I lied to my boss, because I thought it would be in your best interest _not_ to be expelled for something you didn’t start. And _no one_ in my class is just ‘some kid.’”

Really, Ed should be feeling grateful. More than that, he should be ecstatic that someone finally _believed_ him! But something about Mr. Mustang just rubbed him the wrong way, or maybe the wrong _right_ way, and he found himself bristling. “But why tell me? Are you fishing for a ‘thank you?’”

A vein throbbed in the teacher’s forehead as his irritation got the better of him. “Would that be so much to ask for? But no, I’m not. You shouldn’t be lashing out at those who try to help you, Edward. What I’m _trying_ to get at is that you don’t have to feel crazy or alone, and that you shouldn’t let insecurity about your sexuality affect your scholarly pursuits.”

“Are you fucking _joking_?”

Mr. Mustang stood abruptly, annoyance crackling around him like electricity. “Language!”

Edward bit his lip, the fire inside him dying as quickly as it had risen. It felt like he’d broken through the careful façade he’d built over the summer when he hit Elijah, and now Ed couldn’t seem to keep himself in any sort of control. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. Dare he say what he was thinking? “It’s just—I can’t believe you think it’s _insecurity_ that’s got me all fu—messed up. I mean…” An embarrassed flush rose to Edward’s cheeks as he recalled the events of last year. “After what happened, I didn’t expect _that_ to be what you called it.”

Sinking back into his chair, Mr. Mustang ran a hand through his black hair, eyeing Ed curiously. “After _what_ happened?”

“Wait…” Edward spoke slowly, his mind racing. He’d just assumed, seeing as it had spread through the students like a damn wildfire, and because of Principal Bradley’s involvement, that the staff of CCHS would be aware of what had happened. “Do you seriously not know?”

His teacher, who’d initially seemed so cool, calm, and collected to Ed, was like an open book of irritation now. “I know you got in a fight last year, too. That’s it.”

Wow. Oddly enough, it felt… _glorious_ , looking at Mr. Mustang and knowing he had _no idea_. Obviously, because of what Edward had said of his scuffle with Elijah, the man knew he was gay but…that was it. He didn’t know the rest, didn’t know how dirty and stupid, weak and worthless Ed was. And that was exhilarating. Standing up straight, now, and releasing his arms to his sides, Edward grinned. It was perhaps the most peaceful smile he’d smiled since the events of last year. “Then that’s all there is to know.”

Mr. Mustang, rather than bristling as Ed had expected, just _looked_ at him. Peering over clasped fingers, the teacher studied him for altogether too long, before he finally came to his conclusion. “There’s more, but you won’t tell me. Not yet, but I think you will in time.” _Fat chance_. His teacher continued despite Ed’s interrupting thought, “That will just have to be good enough for me. In the meanwhile, I hope you realize, Edward, that I’m here to help. I couldn’t care less what gender you’re interested in, and I only want to know what happened so as to see if there’s anything I can do.”

 _There’s not, there’s nothing anyone can do._ But no one liked to hear those words. As much as everyone had to realize that truth, nobody wanted to face it. “Okay,” Ed replied simply. “Thanks, I guess.”

A smile quirked at the corner of Mr. Mustang’s mouth, a quick flash of white teeth that made Edward’s heart skip a beat. _No, nope, fuck that_. “You are quite welcome. Now, as I said, I’ll talk to Mrs. Elliot and explain the situation. Who do you have next bell?”

“Um…Mr. Tucker. Why?”

Nodding, Mr. Mustang stood from his chair to brush past Ed and reach for the door. He unlocked it and pushed it open, gesturing for Edward to head out. “Well, I’ll speak to him as well—you really ought to see the nurse.”

That wasn’t an untrue statement. The majority of his lower body was still quite achy, and frankly Ed did _not_ have the capacity to concentrate on biology right then. Murmuring in agreement, Edward turned sideways to slip past Mr. Mustang’s frame, which took up half the doorway. He did not focus on the feel of being that close, he did not inhale to see what the man’s cologne was like, and he did not suddenly find his palms slightly sweaty. Most of all, Ed _definitely_ didn’t let his head be full of _those_ thoughts all the way to the nurse’s office.

Definitely.


	8. Chapter 8

After all of fifteen minutes in her presence, Edward firmly believed the nurse of CCHS, Mrs. Campbell, was his favorite person in the building. Oddly enough he’d never found cause before to enter the nurse’s office, despite having been in fights (and accidents) in the past. Of course, her having to examine his injuries had been mortifying, but she’d swiftly determined that while he wasn’t going to need to see a doctor, he _was_ going to be sent home to relax. Mrs. Campbell was a soft-looking person, all motherly with a wild head of brown curls; Ed had gotten the distinct impression, from her gentle smile, that she thought he’d been through enough today. He couldn’t agree more.

However, that did mean that Edward was now standing on his own doorstep, hesitating to enter. It was possible that Izumi was with Sig at their butcher shop…or she could be just on the other side of the door Ed was so confronted by. Really, it was a 50/50 chance either way. He sighed, letting his head fall for a moment before gathering himself and entering the house. One way or another, Izumi would hear of what had transpired that day, and Edward might as well get it over with.

As it turned out, Ed had been right to steel his nerves, for as he removed his shoes at the entryway, he heard curious footsteps approaching. “Edward…? What are you doing home already?”

Oh, his adoptive mother could sound so _kind_. While he and Al tended to dwell on her more fearsome side, that couldn’t negate Izumi’s loving heart. She was strict, sure, but also fair. And right then there was no anger in her voice, no expectations or judgement. Ed, placing his shoes in their proper place on the rack, looked up to see her face alight with worry. “I got sent home by the nurse,” he began, holding up his hands as Izumi’s eyes widened. “I’m fine! Well, a little sore, but—I’m mostly fine.” _As fine as I can be, nowadays._

“What happened?” she demanded, continuing before Edward could even begin to try to answer. “No, hold on—you get settled on the couch, Ed, I’ll get us some tea. Something relaxing, heavens know I need calm nerves when it comes to you…”

Unable to keep from smiling, Edward followed Izumi through the hall, turning left into the living room as she continued on to the kitchen. His guardian’s little jab was meant in good nature, and in truth Ed found it comforting. If she was _too_ nice, he’d think something was wrong with her. Settling into the wonderfully worn sofa, Edward closed his eyes. What a _day_. What he wouldn’t do for some rest…

All too soon the clink of ceramic forced Ed to blink himself back to the living room, where Izumi was situating herself in her armchair, two steaming mugs of tea sitting on the coffee table between them. “Drink,” she commanded, upon seeing his open eyes. Edward did so willingly and gratefully, the scalding liquid making him feel warm and full. It wasn’t until then that he realized he’d had nothing to eat, and while he would definitely need some food, the tea helped. Only when he’d replaced his cup did Izumi raise her eyebrows, clearly waiting for his explanation.

Edward told her what had happened as carefully as possible. His adoptive mother’s face scrunched up, worry and anger warring on her features when he ever so delicately told her of being kicked. Ed had to repeat and be very, _very_ clear that the principal hadn’t found him to be at fault. Predictably, Izumi wasn’t thrilled that he’d been given a detention, but given the circumstances it could have been a lot worse. When Edward had finished recounting the day’s events, she shook her head, arms crossed over her chest.

“I can’t believe that bastard gave you a detention for defending yourself,” his guardian finally muttered, a murderous glint in her eye. Ed often wondered whether she was the root cause of his combative nature, or whether his late parents had a hand in that as well. Certainly, Izumi was the reason he knew _how_ to defend himself; the woman often preached to him and Al the value of never starting a fight, but always finishing one. “What were you _supposed_ to do, just let it happen?”

Privately and very deep down, Edward agreed with her, but that made little difference. He’d become used to being treated in what could be deemed a less than fair manner. Izumi, on the other hand, had a harder time accepting it. “I did hit him pretty hard. Besides, a detention is almost nothing,” Ed reminded her. The last thing he needed was for her to call up and start something with Principal Bradley on his behalf. They’d done enough of that last year. “Nothing I can’t handle—honestly I thought it was going to be a _lot_ worse.”

Izumi _hmph_ ed, but let it go. No doubt she was thinking the same thing as Edward. “It’s damn good luck your teacher was there to vouch for you. I’m glad _someone_ was watching out for my boy.”

Nodding in agreement, Ed took another sip of his tea to cover any expression that might cross his face. After brief consideration, he’d determined it would be best not to mention that Mr. Mustang had lied for him. That particular tidbit only made everything messier, and it didn’t really change anything. Besides, something about their conversation—behind locked doors!—felt inherently private. The teacher had lied, and Edward was covering it up. A little circle of secrecy, one that would only give his guardian more questions rather than answers.

“Well!” Izumi’s exclamation, perhaps a tad _too_ cheerful, snapped Ed out of his musings. “Given that you seem to have some free time, now, why don’t you put yourself to good use and help me in the garden?”

Without waiting for an answer, his adoptive mother strode off, assuming Edward would follow. She was right. Even though every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget the events of today and yesterday and the day before, Ed felt a deep love and respect for Izumi. He’d not let his issues prevent him from being as good a son as he could be.

\---

Roy was busy going over his students’ labs when the door to his classroom creaked open. A quick glance upwards revealed his wife standing there, her sensible bag clutched close to her side. “You’re still working?” Riza asked, heels clicking on the linoleum flooring as she walked towards him.

“I’m just taking a peek at the labs from today,” Roy murmured in response, letting his attention fall back down to the papers before him. Maybe a little more than a simple peek; Roy always found it impossible to look over schoolwork without digging in deep. In truthfulness he was grading the labs fully. Three pages each for around sixty students was hours of work, but that’s what he’d signed up for. That, of course, didn’t mean he couldn’t complain a little.

The room was silent for a moment, with only the buzzing of florescent lighting filling the air, before Riza spoke once more. She was still standing next to him; Roy had rather expected her to pull up a chair and settle in. “Roy, have you looked at a clock lately?”

No, he had not. Doing so now, he was shocked to see that it was already nearing five in the afternoon. Even the most sluggish of students had been gone for two hours now, and Riza’s secretarial duties were doubtless long completed as well. No wonder she’d come looking for him; typically, the teaching staff would have been packed up by this time, too. “Oh…I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late.” And knowing full well what his wife expected of him, Roy stood, stretching his hands high above his head until his back popped, shirt threatening to come untucked at the motion. “Sorry about that.”

Stooping once more, Roy pulled his satchel out from underneath his desk and set about organizing what he needed to take home. Riza watched him for some moments before elbowing him. The playful gesture took him off guard, and Roy looked up to see her looking at him expectantly. “What?”

“Come on, you really think I wouldn’t ask? You looked pretty serious in the office today, with those two boys. What happened?”

Ah, of course. Riza’s inquisitive nature would hardly let her ignore the matter. Bradley wasn’t the most talkative fellow, so she wouldn’t have heard anything from him. Normally a secretarial position might be one filled with the latest gossip, but not in this school. Clipping the graded labs together, Roy explained the situation briefly. “I had to break up a fight between them.”

His wife hummed, unsatisfied with the answer. “It looked bad.”

Yes, it had been, hadn’t it? Roy knew Riza was referring to Elijah’s bloody nose, and felt it was somehow terribly unfair that Elijah had looked worse for wear when his injuries—both emotional and physical—were doubtless no match for Edward’s. Of course, that wasn’t to negate the boy’s pain. It seemed that Edward had one hell of a punch. But still. “It wasn’t great,” he replied. “Both of them are being punished at Bradley’s discretion.”

“The blonde one was Edward, right? The student that you’re so worried about. Seems the summer hasn’t cooled his temper.” Riza’s voice sounded innocent enough, but her words—so cruelly matter of fact—made Roy clench his teeth. He didn’t deign to respond, instead grabbing the last of his things and taking a deep breath before turning to face his wife. Apparently, he didn’t do a good enough job of calming himself (or maybe Riza was, after all these years, simply too good at reading him), because she raised her eyebrow. “What? I told you, he got in fights last year, too.”

How was Roy to explain the intricacies of the circumstances of a situation when he wasn’t even privy to all of them? And even if he could, why should he? Edward was clearly going through something, and Roy wouldn’t be helping the situation to spread half-baked chatter amongst the school’s staff—even if the staff in question was his wife. “In this case,” he answered stiffly, “Bradley determined that Edward was acting in self-defense.”

Riza shifted her weight to her right leg, hips cocked like a gun, eyes sharpening until they felt like flint chips staring back at him. “I was only asking. You don’t have to get so defensive.”

Oh, part of Roy wanted to just let it out. The frustration and miscommunication that filled him, and the lack of love that had allowed those emotions in. _This is not one of your true crime cases. This is a real person, a human being, who is hurting. You can’t treat this like a “fun” case to solve or to distract yourself with. I’m not a witness who has agreed to make their statement public, I am just a man who is trying to help. Life is not black and white; it is so many shades of grey, and you ought to know that._ But he didn’t and couldn’t. It was not (or at least, not entirely), his wife’s fault that they had turned into vastly different people. In his heart, Roy did not believe she meant to sound as uncaring as she did to him, and he was not blameless, either.

And as such he did _not_ go off on here, instead sighing and saying his dutiful lines. “I’m sorry, Riza. It’s been a long day, and today is only Monday. Why don’t we go grab a bite to eat? I’m always less disagreeable with a full stomach.”

_Why don’t we continue on with this broken charade?_


	9. Chapter 9

“Roy! Haven’t seen you in here all year—didn’t forget about your old pal, did ya?”

The all too chipper early morning voice of his best friend, Maes, almost had Roy walking right back out the door to the teacher’s lounge. A few of the other gathered faculty seemed to share this sentiment, with tired glances and eye rolls being directed aplenty to the completely oblivious English teacher. Of course, it was Hughes who Roy had come to see in the first place, so he could hardly turn his back on the interaction. Shaking his head resignedly, he walked over to join his friend by the espresso machine. If anyone in the world needed to avoid caffeine, it was Maes, but that didn’t seem to deter him.

“Hughes, you know full well I couldn’t forget you if I tried.” Roy’s reply was followed by a yawn wide enough to make his jaw pop. Casually, he took hold of the cup within Mae’s hand—full of liquid energy, thank goodness—and commandeered it. The coffee was piping hot and mediocre in flavor, but feeling awake was worth scalding a few taste buds.

Without missing a beat, Hughes began to prepare himself another drink, having just lost his own. “Aw, c’mon, don’t say that like you _have_ tried! Really, though, would it have killed you to come and say, “Hi?’”

A few feet away, Andrea—Mrs. Elliot—stood, abruptly exiting the break room. To be fair, Maes was quite popular with everyone later in the day. How could he not be, with such a friendly demeanor? But in the early hours of the morning, Roy was one of very few people who could stomach his friend. And even then, only just. Still, though, it was quite rude to leave like that, just because the man was a little energetic. “You know how I get, Hughes,” Roy responded, after another quick sip. “Work just takes over. Riza had to drag me out of the building last night. We didn’t leave until five.”

Humming, Maes filled his fresh cup and motioned for them to sit at the recently vacated table. Roy did so happily, resting his elbows against the smooth wood. His friend was silent for a moment—which was heavily unusual for Hughes—before he said delicately, “I’m sure she wasn’t too happy about that, hmm?”

_That_ was an understatement. Roy was in the teacher’s lounge seeking solace in Maes’s companionship mostly due to the awful night they’d had the night before. Despite his best efforts to play nice, his wife had remained frosty all evening. Things had finally culminated in a familiar argument. Riza vs. Roy working too much. Roy vs. Riza being unkind. Riza vs. Roy not being open. Roy and Riza vs. a monstrous resentment that had grown between them. All he could do was sigh in response to his friend’s question. “No,” Roy answered shortly, “she wasn’t.”

“I know I’ve said this before, but I really don’t know why you two stay together,” Hughes stated calmly, averting his eyes so that Roy’s glare couldn’t reach him. “You both seem so miserable.”

Thankful for the limited number of prying ears in the break room, Roy nevertheless lowered his voice. “And I’ve told _you_ before, you know she’s been through enough. Riza lost her dream career and lost her chance at being a mother. I’m the only part of her life plan that she’s still got. I can’t take that from her.”

“You really think her life plan included being stuck in an unhappy marriage?” Before Roy could make a retort, Maes continued, “I think you’re trying to cover for the real reason you won’t leave.”

Checking the clock, Roy saw that they still had half an hour before classes would begin. Time would not provide him the excuse he wanted to exit the conversation he’d just recently been hoping for. Exasperated, he allowed his head to fall and rest upon one of his forearms, careful to keep his coffee held up in the other hand. “Go on, then,” he groaned. It was too early for this shit. “What’s this ‘real reason,’ huh?”

Again, Hughes paused briefly. “I think,” he murmured, “the answer is layered. First, I think that you, being the infallible man you are, would rather suffer than admit you’ve made a mistake. Secondly, Roy, you’re a fixer. You’ve always struggled with the reality that it’s not your responsibility to solve everyone’s problems. Finally—and I say this because I know you better than most—you’re afraid to be alone. You and Riza have been a couple since you were in high school. Ya know, as students.” Regardless of the serious subject at hand, Maes laughed at his own little joke. “When we were in college, you had some…shall we say, _indiscretions_. And then you came back here and married her. So, you’ve never really _been_ single, and I think you’re scared to face a future where you are all you have.”

Even after all these years, Roy felt his face heating at the reminder of his university escapades. More than anything Hughes said, _they_ might be a reason he stayed with his wife. Riza had no idea he’d been unfaithful, and the nature of those affairs…well, maybe he was still trying to make it up to her. “I didn’t expect to be psychoanalyzed this morning, Hughes.” Roy’s tone was accusatory, and his friend held his hands up, shrugging his shoulders in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave ya be. But it’s my job to worry about you.” Maes took a quick gulp of coffee and, smiling that million watt smile, swiftly changed the subject to one he knew Roy wouldn’t be so hesitant about. “So, you’ve been too busy with work to even have lunch with your dearest friend. Is that good, or bad?”

The corner of Roy’s mouth twitched, a faint smile he couldn’t resist. Hughes was the only person he knew who could balance perfectly serious support and genuine comedic relief. Whatever you needed, he would provide with ease and willingness. Gracia was a lucky woman. “Don’t be like that. I’ll have lunch with you today, okay? But, to answer your question: both, I suppose. You know how it is; some students are great, others less so. This year I don’t have any outright terrors, so that’s a net positive.”

At that, Hughes laughed heartily, running his free hand through his hair. “I wish I was so lucky.”

Grimacing in sympathy, Roy drained the last of his coffee. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. “Yikes. How bad is it?”

“Well, I’m going over _Hamlet_ , right? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but someone published this parody not long ago, where they added zombies.” Maes snickered, repeating, “ _Zombies_! Frankly, it was pretty good—although nothing compared to the original!”

“Of course not.” While Hughes was not a literary snob, exactly, he did hold Shakespeare in a particularly high regard.

With the quickest eye roll of acknowledgement for his sarcasm, Maes went on, “Well, this one kid—Jack—he thought that was the _official, original_ work! Bless him, he had the nerve to ask me, ‘Where are all the zombies?’ after reading the first act. I almost had a heart attack, Roy, I tell ya. Sure, I should be grateful he’s at least _looked_ at the material. I’ve got a couple of non-readers, but that happens every year. I just…Shakespeare must have rolled in his grave. _Zombies_.” A tiny sigh, and then, “Who’s your worst?”

Roy mulled that one over. As he’d said, he didn’t have any out-and-out _bad_ students at the moment, a shining rarity in a teacher’s career. No one that made his blood boil. Of course, he had one particular student who had trouble _surrounding_ him…but did Roy really want to bring up Edward? Guilt flooded him at the mere thought of his name. After all, last night he’d gotten into a fight with Riza in part because he didn’t want to gossip about the kid. Of course, they had spats frequently regardless, but somehow to Roy it felt strange that a student he’d known for a little over a week held enough of his attention to be even the most minute issue. As hesitant as he was, maybe talking to Hughes might give him some new ideas as far as how to help Edward.

“Hello? Earth to Roy!”

“Sorry, sorry, I was just…thinking.” Roy looked down at his intertwined fingers, taking a last second to gather his thoughts. “Really, I don’t have anyone giving _me_ any issues…but one kid did get in a fight that I had to break up yesterday.”

Hughes whistled through his teeth. “Yeah, I heard about a commotion! What happened?”

It only for the briefest second crossed Roy’s mind that he was willingly telling Maes what he wouldn’t tell his wife. This lack of continuity was disregarded. “His name’s Edward Elric. Apparently, he’s facing some bullying.” Lowering his voice and leaning in, Roy whispered, “Edward’s gay. The other students seem to have something against him for it. I’m sure there’s more to the story, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

Understanding dawned on Hughes’s focused face. Matching Roy’s quiet tone, though they were nearly alone in the room, he said, “That makes sense; I’ve got Ed first bell, and he’s been a pretty shy kid. I thought that was just his personality! Shame he’s goin’ through it.”

“I just wish there was something I could _do_ ,” Roy mumbled, frustrated.

“Hey,” Maes began, leaning back in his chair, “I get it. You’re empathetic to his troubles. But if you bother him too much, Ed’s just going to resent you, too. Let him know you’ve got an ear to listen if he needs to talk, but otherwise just treat him like a normal kid. Sounds like he would benefit from just being dealt with like everyone else.” Before Roy, open-mouthed, could protest, Hughes held his palms up. “I know you like to be hands on, but even positive attention is singling him out. I’m sure you know from experience how much Ed just wants to feel like a regular person right now.”

Though his more emotional side wanted to argue, Roy logically knew his friend was right. Edward probably felt like an outcast, and even if he was trying to help in doing so, giving the boy special treatment wouldn’t make him feel like his sexuality was just as natural as everyone else’s. It was just that Roy was an impatient man; he was the type to work at something until he saw _results_. But Maes was correct in more than one way. Roy’s experiments in college had, thankfully, not been so traumatic as Edward’s own experience, but they’d still had him feeling entirely _other_ when compared to the majority of the campus. “I hate it when you use logic against me, Hughes.”

“Says the scientist.”

Even though their discussions had been quite serious, especially for such an early hour, that made Roy chuckle. It was strange, wasn’t it, that a man of data such as himself could be so emotionally driven. Shaking his head good naturedly, he rose to his feet, rolling his head to stretch out the morning’s lingering kinks. “Speaking of which, I have work to do. And your first bell starts in a few minutes. Really, though, I will come up for lunch. I’ve enjoyed your company, and your advice.” Truth be told, after having spoken with Maes, he felt quite guilty for not spending more time with his friend. Eating at his desk was more convenient, but nowhere near as fulfilling.

Giving him a little two finger salute, Hughes grinned. “I’ll hold ya to that! Besides, we spent all this time talking about you…I have so much to say about my lovely Elicia!”

Roy managed to hold his smile mostly in place, though as he turned away, he was balking. Whenever that dreamy-eyed expression gripped Maes’s face, you were in for it. Of course, Roy reflected as he exited into the mostly empty halls of CCHS, he wasn’t really too bothered to listen to Hughes go on about how much he loved his life. With a happy wife, and a lovely daughter…who could blame Maes for his enthusiasm?

Who didn’t secretly want that for themselves?


	10. Chapter 10

Detention. Funny, it was supposed to be this big dreadful thing; a punishment to be avoided. And sure, Edward would rather not be spending any more time in this horrible school than he absolutely had to. But detention at CCHS was held in the library, which was something close to a sanctuary for Ed. Not so many people questioned you when you had your nose buried in a book. Which, incidentally, was exactly what he had been instructed to do.

Edward glanced up from his textbook—math? He hadn’t even looked, simply pulling one at random from his bag—to track the movements of the supervisor. Mr. Tucker was meandering aimlessly in and around the shelves, checking on the other miscreants tucked into various corners of the library. All the teacher had told them was that they had an hour of mandatory studying; their punishment was being forced to do work they were already meant to complete. Not that Ed was complaining or complying. After another week in classes, Edward had plenty of homework, but absolutely zero emotional energy to work on it. Hence the open book, designed to make him look busy.

That was something Ed had gotten quite good at last year. After what happened, he took to coming to the library any chance he got. It was a vast space, with plenty of scattered tables hidden by rows of bookshelves; in other words, a perfect place to disappear. In fact, it was exactly where Edward had gone that awful day…

\---

_Why wasn’t he crying? Ed thought he should probably be crying at this point. There was a huge weight in his chest, a terrible pressure that in truth made him feel more like vomiting again than like sobbing. But nothing would come out. It was stuck, bottled inside, this most atrocious mix of shame and guilt and sadness and—_

_Edward stumbled, his breathing coming sharp and fast. He needed to sit down, or he was going to pass out. That would just be the icing on the cake, wouldn’t it? To fucking faint like the pansy he was. Ed turned a corner, around another shelf, and half threw himself into the first chair he saw. With a shaky hand, he reached into his bookbag to grab his water bottle. His mouth still tasted like bile._

_Maybe he_ should _sleep. Maybe this was all a horrible dream. After all, the whole thing seemed entirely unreal. This…this couldn’t really be happening. But Edward didn’t really think that; he knew full well what he did to Winry was actual, and her revenge was just as tangible. It was just that a part of him wanted to stay in denial, to just go to bed and forget. Another part of him wanted to head up the maintenance stairs to the roof and leap off._

_Would it hurt to do? It couldn’t possibly hurt as much as_ this _._

_Ed let his head fall to the table, eyes shut tightly. He’d thrown his copy away, but that damn stupid poster was so clear in his mind that it might as well have been in front of him. Why was he even still here? Edward should have snuck out and gone home. A little distance would be good for him…but going home meant telling Izumi and Sig what had happened. And,_ fuck _, how was he supposed to do that? How was he to tell his adoptive family about this…_

_“Brother?”_

_Alphonse’s voice was so quiet, so delicate that for a moment Ed thought he was imagining it. But then he felt hesitant fingers on his back. “Brother, I’m here.”_

_It was a good thing Al hadn’t said, “It’s okay,” because brother or not, Edward would have slapped him. This was about the furthest thing from okay as was humanly possible. A dry heave ripped through him, but there was nothing left in Ed’s stomach to expunge._

_“I can’t believe she did this…” Alphonse whispered. Edward’s muscles clenched involuntarily. As little as he wanted to say it, he wasn’t entirely surprised. Winry was a passionate person who didn’t take well to criticism or offense. And, boy, had he offended her. Considering she was prone to fits when her tinkering was interrupted, it wasn’t out of character for Winry to blow her entire lid at something like—like what he’d done to her._

_What a pussy he was! He couldn’t even say it to himself._

_Though the hand on his back didn’t move, Ed heard Al settling into the chair beside him. “Please, Brother, say something,” his sibling begged. But what was he supposed to say? Edward was the guy who had his whole life planned out, but now…now, he couldn’t even see ten seconds into the future. Every breath felt like it would be his last, like the knife in his gut would finally finish its work._

_“I don’t know what to say,” Ed croaked. “I should have known better. I shouldn’t have crossed her, and now I’m getting what’s due.”_

_“Brother, you can’t really believe you_ deserve _this? I mean, you really messed up, but…” Alphonse trailed off, evidently also at a loss for words. Then, after a few heartbeats, “You could have told me, you know.”_

_Did Ed know that? In theory and hindsight, sure. Al was here, after all. Regardless of everything, his little brother had sought him out to provide comfort. But was easy for Alphonse to say Edward should have confessed to him. He’d not felt that feeling bubbling up, the slow and terrible realization that you’re irreparably different. Al had never struggled to cover up his feelings, to lie to everyone and himself about what he wanted. Ed was thankful for it, really, that his brother had never had to be so afraid of his own desires._

_“How could I have told you?” Edward muttered. “I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, Al. I didn’t—I don’t_ want _to be gay!” Unbidden, his voice broke as a solitary sob escaped. “All I want is to be_ normal _. I just wanted to date Winry and make her happy.”_

_“All you_ can _be is yourself, Brother,” Alphonse chided gently. “You didn’t need to hide that.”_

_A merciless, bark of a laugh erupted from Ed. “Obviously I did, Al. Every other guy in school thinks I’m a freak.”_

_“Well, that’s because Winry’s made things a bit more complicated.”_ That _was a delicate way to put it. “I’m sure everything will calm down…”_

_\---_

The soft voice of Mr. Tucker broke Edward out of his reverie. Detention was over, and he was free to go home. Free to try to enjoy the weekend, like it wasn’t just a two-day countdown to more misery. Alphonse had been wrong; nothing had calmed down.

Whatever. Edward tossed his textbook back into his bag, then slung it over his shoulder. For once, he was the first one out the library doors, eager as always to escape CCHS. Hadn’t he read somewhere that being in a place where something bad had happened brought it to the forefront of your mind?

Ed should have switched schools, like Rupert had been smart enough to do.

Not that it would have been possible, he reflected as he sped down the mostly empty halls. Rupert’s family had been wealthy and had simply placed him in a private school. Izumi and Sig could hardly have afforded that, nor would Edward have expected them to. And it wasn’t like they could uproot their butcher’s shop, their whole _lives_ , to move for Ed to go to a different public school. No, he was stuck, and he’d always been stuck.

Upon crossing the threshold into the outdoors, Edward saw immediately that Alphonse, ever the perfect sibling, had waited for him. Ed had made it clear that Al was welcome to head home on his own, but it seemed that his brother was too nice to do something like that.

Or was he? A double take had Edward slowing down, then stopping entirely, his feet stacked unevenly on the stairs. Yes, Alphonse was waiting, but he wasn’t alone. A girl Ed had never seen before was standing next to him, chattering away. Her hair was even darker than Izumi’s, and worn in two plaits that bounced as she spoke, so energetic was her demeanor. And as for Al—he was smiling, laughing harder than Edward had seen him do in months.

Oh, he hated himself for the jealousy that bubbled up inside. Ed could no longer make his brother that happy, and part of him was furious that a stranger could do more for Alphonse than he could. On the flip side, Edward was so glad to see _something_ making Al grin that he didn’t want to interrupt them. A small voice inside wondered if he might be able to sneak around, walk home alone so that Alphonse could talk to his heart’s content with this girl. Of course, as soon as the thought entered Ed’s head, Al looked up and beckoned to him. His companion looked up as well, and Edward saw she had a dainty, round face with inquisitive eyes.

Feeling quite vulnerable at the idea of someone he was unfamiliar with judging him, Ed was slow to finish his descent and join the duo under the shade of a tree. When he was close enough, Alphonse began the introductions. “Brother! This is May, she’s a new exchange student! May, this is Edward.”

Blessedly, his name didn’t bring about the dreaded flicker of recognition Ed had become used to. Instead, May smiled at him, bowing deeply. “It’s good to meet you! Alphonse and I share a physics class, and he’s been telling me a lot about the school. I’m from Xing, see, and it’s very different there.”

How different? Different enough for May to not care about who he was? Or had Al been hiding those parts of CCHS from her thus far? Edward’s hand crept up to his braid, fingers playing with the free end, a nervous tic. “It’s nice to meet you too, May. So you’re a junior as well?”

The girl’s grin widened, self-satisfaction evident in her tone as she replied. “No, I’m a sophomore! Back in my home country, science is considered the most important subject, so I tested well enough here to be placed in the AP class. I’m so glad, too—Al is the nicest person I’ve met so far!”

“Well,” Ed chuckled, “that’s not going to change. My brother’s too sweet for his own good.”

Glancing over at the person in question, Edward saw that Alphonse was blushing at the attention. “Hey, don’t make me out to be a saint, Brother. May will be disappointed if you get her expectations too high.”

Regrettably, Ed rather thought May was going to be disappointed anyway, through no fault of Al’s. But when she heard about Edward’s muddied past, her view of his brother would be tainted by association. Given how Alphonse’s eyes kept darting to her, Ed thought he must be quite fond of the exchange student, and hoped the secret wouldn’t come out too quickly.

“Anyway, May, I’m sorry to go but we ought to be getting home.” Al’s tone conveyed just how sorry he was. “But I’ll see you on Monday!”

“See you then!”

May’s chipper farewell echoed in Ed’s ears, and in the silence between the two brothers as they made their way home. Finally, when they were halfway there, Edward dared to ask the question he least wanted to. “Al? You seem to really like May, huh?”

Alphonse kept his gaze locked forward, but couldn’t hide the warmth in his cheeks as he answered quietly, “Yeah, I do. She’s so smart, and pretty, and kind…”

Swallowing hard, Edward went on, each word that left his mouth feeling like a razor blade on his tongue. “So, what are you going to do when she finds out about me? It’s—it’s only a matter of time.”

The faintly dreamy expression that had been lingering on his brother’s face faltered as Al considered the question. Finally, he shook his head, and when he spoke he was resolute. “I’m going to hope she’s a good enough person to see past the gossip, and to see who you really are. If she can’t…well, she’s not for me.”

What must it be like to have such optimism? To feel so sure of yourself, and of what’s important to you! Edward found himself choked up by Alphonse’s unwavering support. Unable to find words, he just nudged his brother with his elbow. Al knew what he meant. Still, as much as Ed appreciated knowing Alphonse would always be on his side…his fervent hope was that May would be more forgiving to his faults than everyone else at CCHS, for Al’s sake.


	11. Chapter 11

Izumi Curtis was a woman of many talents, of that Edward was well aware. His adoptive mother would claim up and down she was nothing more than a “simple housewife,” but the truth went so much deeper. From being a mom, to helping Sig with their butchery business, to her prowess in self-defense…Ed had believed, for a long time, that Izumi could accomplish anything. She simply had the willpower and raw skill to do whatever.

What perhaps impressed Edward the most, however, actually _was_ related to her role as a housewife. The family lived in Central, a bustling city by any account, and yet Izumi had managed to turn their little backyard into such a nice garden that resting outside and closing his eyes made Ed feel like he’d been transported to the country.

Sitting at the circular glass patio table and breathing in deeply, Edward could no longer taste the faint heaviness of the air. The cars passing by on the street all went silent, and for a moment the wind whistled alone. Ed was, for half a second, fully convinced that if he opened his eyes, he would see fields for miles, with little more than a handful of tiny farming houses to break up the sea of grass. Instead, he was faced with the stack of papers resting upon the table in front of him. Innocent enough, Edward nevertheless felt rather taunted by the papers, as though the corners turning up with the breeze were giving him the middle finger.

_Just fucking get to it already._

Ed inhaled slowly, letting the air out in a defeated exhale before picking up his pen. He’d already been sitting there for a half an hour and waiting wouldn’t do anything except delay the inevitable. With resignation, Edward pulled the stack close, reading again the bold font of the first page: **Central University Student Application**.

It was baffling to Ed that he’d only just started his senior year of high school and he already needed to begin the work of filling this out, but those were the facts. The earlier you got your application in, the better chance you had of being accepted. Truth be told, until the end of last year Edward had been ready and raring to get to this point. Now, it felt like he was just continuing on the path of least resistance.

_Well, technically, no. The easiest thing to do would be to just give up and fade away_.

That would destroy Alphonse, though. So, the path of second-least resistance it was. Leaning forward over the tabletop, Ed got to work on filling out the easy bit that was his basic information. Legal name, birthday, address, phone number, etc.

Next was a section on extracurricular activities, something every high school teacher had drummed into Edward’s head as exceedingly important. “Extracurriculars could set you aside from other applicants,” and all that jazz. Luckily, he’d taken their words of advice to heart and until this year had been a member of the school’s Science Olympiad group as well as the engineering club (at Winry’s insistence). That should be enough to buff up his application…it would have to be. Ed could barely be bothered to attend his classes; there was no way in hell he would be signing up to spend even more time around a student body who ignored him at best, and actively hated him at worst.

Then there was the financial portion, which Izumi had already completed for him. Edward couldn’t help but smile at that. Of course, that page _was_ hers to deal with as his legal guardian, but the fact that she was so prepared made him feel…loved. Ed didn’t even have to ask for his adoptive mother’s help, he simply had it as a fact of life. In that regard (and possibly _only_ that regard), he’d been pretty fortunate.

With those pages complete, that left only a few portions of the application left. All of the test scores and transcript information would be forwarded to the university by CCHS, so Edward didn’t have anything to do with that. What he _did_ have to be concerned about was obtaining letters of recommendation. The application asked for “between one and three” letters. Too bad there was no option for none at all. Sure, Ed had enjoyed some decent relationships with his teachers in the past. The problem was, somehow he didn’t think it would look good on his app to have commendations from people he hadn’t interacted with for at least a year. Mr. Archer (who had taught Edward geology in his sophomore year) would have nothing but praises to sing of Ed, but aside from a smile or greeting in the hallway, he’d not talked to his former teacher since then. It wasn’t like Mr. Archer would be able to say anything good about who Edward was _now_.

Leaning back and groaning, Ed rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Okay. He’d just go down his current list of teachers and pick the best one. How hard could that be?

Mr. Hughes was an immediate no-go. To be fair, he was such an upbeat man that Edward could count on him to say something positive, but he just wasn’t sure he had the emotional stamina to handle a one-on-one conversation with Mr. Hughes long enough to even _ask_ for a letter. Ms. Armstrong, however…well, she was a toss-up. On the one hand, the woman was strict and blunt and had probably never even heard of sugar coating, let alone done so herself. On the other hand, this was Ed’s second year taking Latin from her, which meant Ms. Armstrong would have plenty of time with him from which to draw inspiration.

Edward pushed his chair a little farther back, until it was balancing on two legs. Very gently, he rocked back and forth, considering whether the risk was worth it. Hmm…he’d come back to her as a maybe. Mrs. Elliot was his next option, and Ed passed over her quickly. Who wanted a bigoted and biased teacher writing about them? Then there was Mr. Tucker. Frankly, Edward didn’t believe the man was tuned into the real world enough to compose a personal letter. Mr. Falman could be a good, albeit generic, option. Unless Ed and his teacher both magically came out of their shells in the next month or so, it wasn’t like they would have enough of a relationship to give a recommendation any weight. That only left (since Edward was excluding his gym teacher from the list) Mr. Mustang.

After the fight and their little chit chat, Ed hadn’t spoken to the man…well, at all, actually. In class Mr. Mustang didn’t call on him, and Edward certainly wasn’t initiating contact. His whole policy was trying to keep his head down! But that didn’t stop him from noticing the _looks._ The teacher might not force Ed to talk, but Mr. Mustang seemed to always let his eyes linger on him a heartbeat too long. Like he was hoping Edward would suddenly stand and open up to him. Meanwhile, Ed did his (feeble) best to _not_ see his teacher, to not think about the man’s appearance or apparent acceptance. There was no way in _hell_ he would be approaching Mr. Mustang for a letter.

“Brother? Izumi says lunch is almost ready!”

Alphonse’s voice, calling from the back door about ten feet away, startled Edward out of his thoughts—and _off_ his balance. The chair he had been leaning into teetered just that little bit too far, and it and Ed fell backward. It all happened so fast only the smallest sound of surprise had time to escape his lips before Edward found himself on the ground.

“Ow..” Thank goodness the table was placed in the grass, rather than on a stone patio or anything. The ground was hard enough on the back of Ed’s head as it was. He blinked in the bright sunlight that was suddenly directly in his eyes, regaining his bearings. Edward hadn’t even started to try to get up before Al was hovering above him, a constant stream of apologies flowing from his downturned mouth.

“Oh no, Brother, I’m so sorry! You’ve got to be more careful, are you bleeding? Do you need me to get Izumi?”

“No, no, I’m fine!” In a hurry to prove his point so his adoptive mother couldn’t see him manhandling her furniture, Ed pushed himself up with a grunt. Once standing, he brushed the grass off the back of his jeans before leaning over to pick up the chair as well. “See? All good, you just scared me.”

While Alphonse still looked worried, he at least didn’t argue with Edward, instead commenting, “I wasn’t expecting you to be so zoned out. I thought you were working on your college application…you weren’t daydreaming instead of focusing, were you, Brother?” Though Al tried to make that sound like a bad thing, Ed heard the hint of hope in his sibling’s voice. Like maybe he was feeling okay enough to daydream.

Sadly, that was not the case. Rubbing the back of his head—not bloody, just sore—Edward explained, “Nah, I got stuck on the letters of recommendation. Trying to figure out who to ask for one.”

Despite the fact that lunch was about to be done, and the fact that that was objectively more important than whatever future Ed might have, Alphonse had to ask. “And? Who’d you decide on?”

Well, the fall hadn’t let Edward forget he essentially had no options at all. His “maybe” would have to become a definite. “I’m going to go with Ms. Armstrong. I’ve had her for two years now, so she knows me well enough. Not that I’m not terrified of what she might say, but it seems like the logical option.”

Several seconds ticked by, with Al waiting expectantly. Concern slowly fell over his face as he realized Ed was done speaking. “Wait…that’s it? Just Ms. Armstrong? Brother, you can’t only use _one_ teacher as a rec!”

“Why not?” Edward was well aware of the defensive tone in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. Even though he was asking, Ed knew why. Doing the bare minimum on his application would look more like he was simply completing that section, rather than putting in any effort. And only having one person vouch for his character and scholastic ability made it seem like they were the only person who _could_ do so. Alphonse didn’t even answer, just giving Edward a pointed, rebuking look. “Okay, okay,” he backtracked quickly. “I’ll ask Mr. Falman too, then.”

Al crossed his arms, incredulity written all over him. “Brother. Seriously? I know we haven’t been back at school that long, but I barely even remembered you _had_ Mr. Falman! You never say a word about him! I mean yes, having a letter from a calculus teacher could be impressive, but come on…it wouldn’t be personal at all!”

“Listen, I’m open for suggestions if you have any!” Ed threw his hands up in exasperated defeat. “What, should I ask Miss Sheska? She knows me, I’m in her library often enough. I’m—I’m not trying to be dramatic, but I’m just floating along this year. On a good day. Maybe if I had been a senior last year, I would have been having compelling discussions with Mr. Hughes and I would’ve asked him. But now…I’d be better off asking _you_ to write one for me. I haven’t said more than a handful of words to pretty much _any_ of my teachers.”

Despite the midday warmth of early September, Edward felt cold having said that. Alphonse however, bless his soul, rose to the challenge Ed presented almost immediately. “I know, Brother. I understand, I just meant there had to be a better option. What about Mr. Mustang? He broke up that fight with Elijah, so he’s seen some of the adversity you face. He might have some useful insight for a rec.”

Edward gulped, willing his cheeks not to heat up. It wasn’t often that he lied to—or rather, kept things from—Al, but in this case…well, he hadn’t told his brother the extent of his conversation with Mr. Mustang. Alphonse certainly didn’t know the teacher had lied for Ed’s sake. For one thing, Al would be scandalized by the idea of an instructor being anything less than honest. But for another…as weird as the interaction had made Edward feel, it was somehow _so good_ to have someone of authority not look down upon him. Of course, Mr. Mustang didn’t know the whole story; Ed had no doubt the teacher would feel rather differently if he did. But as it was, Edward had someone who sympathized for him outside his family, and that feeling was just too special to let it out. To anyone.

“Umm…” trying to keep his emotions in order, Ed scrounged for an excuse. “I dunno, Al. I feel like Mr. Mustang might have a bad taste in his mouth about me after seeing me punch someone in the face. Just because he agreed that I didn’t start it doesn’t mean I’m in his good books.”

Alphonse sighed in resigned agreement. “I suppose you’re right, Brother. But you _have_ to find someone else to ask…maybe you should wait a little bit and see if any of your teachers grow on you. It’s not like you have to mail in your application tomorrow, after all.”

That was fair, and Edward was more than happy to abandon the topic in favor of heading inside for lunch. To just forget about letters for a while, eat some potatoes, and worry about it later. If only all of his problems were so easy to dodge.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STRONG TRIGGER WARNING FOR MISCARRIAGE!  
> This chapter is moderately graphic concerning the topic. If you are sensitive, please skip at least the flashback if not the whole chapter.

Roy knew from the moment he woke up to hours-old birdsong what day it was. His wife’s rigid, unspeaking form beside him in the bed told him so. Wasn’t that just awful of him? What did it say about Roy as a person that he _didn’t_ count down the same way Riza did, that this anniversary crept up on him each year as a horrible surprise? What would-be father didn’t always sense, somewhere in the back of his mind, the memory of the day his unborn child died?

Though he knew full well that Riza wasn’t asleep, Roy was quiet, trying to keep tired bedsprings silent as he rose. His wife was lying atop their covers, goosebumps risen on her pale arms. Yet she made no move to blanket herself—no move at all, actually. She was cold and still, like she was ready to join their daughter in the ground. Tiptoeing around to pull on some clothes, Roy did not turn to look at his wife as he exited the bedroom. From previous years’ experience, he knew Riza would most likely have her eyes closed. But some years, he had looked back to find her brown eyes glassy, glazed over like a horrible doll. Unseeing. Roy shivered at the mere thought; he’d _never_ see that gaze again. It was selfish, but that was the one part of all this he couldn’t handle.

Perversely, Roy was glad the anniversary fell on a Sunday this year. August 26th came so close after the beginning of the school year, and while he and Riza could get a day off easily enough, it was poor timing. Another callous thought.

To him, the whole thing felt so _distant_ most of the time. After all, it had been seven years. Roy had been nothing more than a bright-eyed fresh graduate, ready to start his teaching career. Riza had been merely 18, and just out of high school rather than college. She’d fallen pregnant after one of his weekend visits and a mistake…and then suddenly she wasn’t.

Well, no. That wasn’t quite true. While the situation, the stillbirth as a whole, felt so far away, when Roy thought about it…the memory of the day was there, buried but crisp and clear as an image in a mirror.

\---

_It was a normal check-up. That was all…at least, that’s what Roy had tried to tell himself. The fact of the matter was that it was anything_ but _. They were seated in the waiting room at the OBGYN, with Roy sitting stiff and still. Riza, on the other hand, was a bundle of nervous energy and movement—perhaps to make up for the lack of kicks and turns from within her pregnant stomach._

_She’d alerted Roy the previous day, her tone trying to be casual but undercut by tension. The baby hadn’t been shifting as much, and now it felt like maybe not at all. He knew his wife—the words still felt so strange!—was looking for his strength, his reassurance…but Roy couldn’t offer it. In truth, he was unprepared to be a father and knew nothing about babies and pregnancy. Not that he hadn’t tried to learn, at least a little…but this was something beyond the scope of his profession._

_So, to the doctor it was. By now, Riza hadn’t felt the baby moving for almost a full 24 hours. Roy knew enough to realize that was a very bad sign._

_It didn’t take long, really, for the couple to be called back into the office. Riza held his hand like a vice the whole way back. And the whole time, after she’d put on a gown, while the nurse smiled and listened to her concerns, while the doctor arrived and tried to find a heartbeat._

_In fact, Riza held on tight to Roy up until the very moment the now-somber physician declared that there was no heartbeat to be found. Their baby was dead._

_To Roy, it had seemed like the world was incased in fog since he’d come back from college to find his then-girlfriend pregnant. Their speedy wedding, the rental of their apartment, moving in…it all had passed by in somewhat of a haze. Life for the past few months had felt more and more like a dream every day, one that Roy could not wake up from even if he wanted to. In that instant, everything once again became crystal clear with the most painful wakeup call._

_He was brought back, crashing into reality just in time for his wife to relinquish her hold on his hand and to let out the most horrible cry of anguish. As an OBGYN, the doctor had doubtless had to deliver this news before, and yet even he winced as frantic, hysterical tears ran down Riza’s cheeks. Oh, she_ cried _…and begged. For them to check again, for Roy to do something, anything…but what could he possibly do? There was nothing on earth that could bring back the dead._

_Why wasn’t he crying, too?_

_It took a very long time for Riza to calm down enough to be coherent again. Roy had tried to comfort her, but when he attempted to rub her hair, his wife had slapped at him. He didn’t blame her, really; the feeble show of support could never have been enough._

_Eventually, after many tissues and a glass of water, the room was mostly quiet. Riza was still sniffling, the sound so heart-wrenching Roy almost wanted to ask her to stop—but that would be ridiculous, and insensitive to boot. As gently as possible, the physician explained that because of the timing, Riza would have to give birth; the baby was simply too big for her body to “expel it naturally.”_

_Those words enraged his wife, which then brought on another round of tears. As for Roy, he was trying to keep his churning stomach under control. The idea that Riza would have to go through labor, only to be rewarded with a corpse…it made him want to vomit. Of course, there was no alternative. You couldn’t simply wish dead babies away. Poor, poor Riza._

_Once she was again able to listen, the doctor instructed them to head to the hospital. He would call ahead, so that they could head into labor right away. Oh—Roy hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly. Then again, the idea of Riza having to walk around for even a day with a cadaver in her womb was an even less appealing thought._

_This time, the process went in reverse, with the doctor exiting and Riza dressing, and then making the suddenly long walk to the car. Everyone else in the waiting room stared; it was written plain as day on their faces what had happened in the exam room. Hushed titters started up as the couple exited, but not before they were out of earshot. Amazing, how inconsiderate people could be._

_Riza did not speak on the ride to the hospital. She cried some more, but quietly this time. Out of the corner of his eye (Roy kept his gaze dedicated firmly to the road in front of them), he could see her hand moving in little circles atop her bump. Whatever else he was or wasn’t feeling, Roy_ did _have immense sympathy for his wife._

_The hospital was another blur of activity, with a surprising number of nurses and doctors flitting in and out of Riza’s room. She was given a drug to induce labor, that much Roy understood. But other than that, it was simply hours of waiting that could have been either days or minutes. First Riza sobbed, then screamed, then both as her contractions came closer and closer together. And through it all Roy stood, feeling terribly sad for his wife but utterly unable to do a thing to help._

_The labor itself was a gross, bloody affair. Normally, Roy figured this would be offset by the miracle of life…but in this delivery room there was no air of triumph, of creation. Aside from Riza’s groans, it was almost silently efficient, as though the nurses just wanted to get it over with. Unable to make himself watch—a guilt he was sure he would carry to his own grave—Roy didn’t even realize, at first, that the ordeal was over. The baby,_ their _baby, was out, with no cry to signal its arrival. So quietly that he could barely hear it over his wife’s panting, one nurse declared, “It’s a girl.”_

_So. He would have had a daughter. Would she have been the classic daddy’s girl? Or would she have preferred her mother?_

_For the first time, Roy felt his eyes mist over._

_In the wake of the birth, doctors murmured out the cause of death: a detached placenta. What caused that? No one could say. Riza accepted this news mutely, having apparently finally run out of tears. She was offered their baby and she latched on, holding the cold little body to her breast as though that would somehow bring her back. Roy looked over his wife’s shoulder, amazed at just how small the baby was. Like the tiniest of dolls._

_He willed himself, staring at those eternally closed eyes, to feel_ something _. Some connection. But he just…couldn’t. Without sound or movement, Roy couldn’t force himself to connect with the fact that this was his spawn. It wasn’t like he was happy; hollowness found a way to fill him, and he would do anything to be able to assuage Riza’s agony…but this tragedy felt, still, so impersonal to him._

_Roy declined to hold her. He felt Riza’s sharp eyes on him as he shook his head, but he simply couldn’t imagine trying to cradle their baby, barely longer than his hand. The insane fear pervaded that he would drop her, and somehow in death that was an even worse offense than it would have been had she lived._

_They didn’t leave the hospital until the next day._

_\---_

Well, maybe that last bit of his recollection wasn’t true, Roy mused as he moved around the kitchen, preparing tea rather than coffee. Sometimes, he felt very strongly that his wife had _never_ left the hospital, not really.

If he looked at it clinically, that day was the beginning of the end of their relationship, though it had really only scarcely begun at that point. Riza had rarely said it outright, but he knew she’d never forgiven him for his behavior—or rather, lack thereof—on that day. To be fair, neither had Roy. In his defense, though, he had been little more than a kid himself. When he graduated university, Roy hadn’t been looking for a wife or a child, yet he tried to rise to the occasion as best he could. It just wasn’t enough.

Over the years since that day, Roy had continued to do his level best for Riza. He knew she deserved more than he could offer; he knew he was never sufficient for her and her needs. And while he did his best to avoid it, resentment more and more often crept up about that.

Two unhappy people in one unhappy relationship.

Sometimes Roy thought it would be kinder to just leave. But then, if that’s what Riza had wanted, wouldn’t she have filed for divorce herself? So, he stayed. The least Roy could do was at least let their marriage continue or fizzle on his wife’s terms. She was clearly the more injured party.

With the tea ready—no sugar, nothing to ease the bitterness today—Roy turned to face the bedroom, but paused before reentering to rouse his spouse. Just for a second, long enough to gather his strength. It would take some time to coerce her out of bed, longer to convince his wife to shower, or at least to wash her face of the tears she would have shed the previous night while he was asleep. And then it would be off to the cemetery.

Roy would not mention the idea of trying again. He’d made that mistake only once, on the first anniversary of the stillbirth. On that day he’d been willing to try anything to make Riza feel better, even if by that point he knew he didn’t want children. But she’d refused vehemently, almost violently, saying that she could never trust her body to produce life again.

No, all he would do this year would be steadfast, as he always attempted to be. Even if she didn’t love him anymore, it would be good for Riza to have someone to hold on to. Roy could offer that much.


	13. Chapter 13

It was only a handful of weeks into the school year, and already people were buzzing about homecoming. Granted, the dance was only a month away, but Edward still thought the excitement was unnecessary.

_A year ago, I was just as excited,_ Ed reminded himself, weaving slowly through the chattering sea of students. Of course, a year ago may has well have been a hundred for how different things felt now. The idea of a dance made Edward want to puke, or at the very least slam his head into a wall. Though he wasn’t (obviously) a part of any conversation, snippets of excitement surrounded him on all sides.

“Did you hear Kaitlynn asked Mike?”

“—and then she said _no_ , in front of _everyone_!”

“I was thinking of wearing teal, do you think that’s too much?”

It was giving Ed a migraine. Or maybe it was the memories banging hammers against the inside of his skull.

What was even worse was that Alphonse was _also_ so excited. Of course, he planned to ask May to go with him, despite the fact that they’d only known each other for a few days. Edward was happy for his brother, genuinely. It was just that he couldn’t express his—well, whatever this emotion bubbling in his stomach was.

Ever since last year, Ed had been pushing his feelings down. It wasn’t that he thought that would make them go away; he was quite convinced they never would. The problem was, Edward didn’t want to talk to a counselor, or Izumi, or Sig, or even Al. He didn’t want to drag other people into his misery. On occasion, Edward would confide in his brother, but it was not something he’d made a habit of. Letting everything fester inside wasn’t healthy (duh), it was just what he _did_. For the most part, that was the easiest thing for Ed to do.

Over the last week or so that had changed. Entirely unsure of what caused the switch, Edward nevertheless had found himself overcome with the urge to say… _something_. To let someone take away a little bit of the burden he’d carried around all summer. It seemed like an easy way to start, telling Alphonse about how homecoming was reminding him of all the awfulness of last year. But, of course, now that Al had a potential date and a lot more enthusiasm than normal for the event, Ed wasn’t going to ruin his brother’s fun with his melancholy.

Unexpected and sudden tears threatened to give rise, pooling behind Edward’s eyes. He blinked against the hot feeling, looking down at his feet in case any rough wetness should leak out. The dance was just one more thing to shove down into the pit that used to be his stomach. It would have to fit.

\---

Roy distinctly hated leaving work until the last minute. It was a personality quirk that had come to light quite late in his life. In fact, he could remember an English teacher from his years as a high school student reprimanding him rather severely for the consistency with which his assignments were late. Once he entered college, though, Roy found himself working on things he actually _cared_ about, much more so than the subject matter he’d been presented with throughout his own days at CCHS. If it was something important to him, Roy would go above and beyond timeliness.

So grading quizzes that he had to hand back to his sixth bell class during third period was less than ideal. What with the anniversary this past weekend, Roy had found himself a little behind. Ah, well. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

Ignoring the slight cramp in his hand, Roy pressed along steadily—up until his eyes lit upon Edward’s name. Something about the kid nagged at him constantly, an ever-present buzzing in the back of his mind. Normally, Roy graded with a fairly detached air; students got whatever grade they got. But in this case, he found himself hoping Ed had done well. He seemed to have enough on his plate right now, and though Roy wouldn’t fudge a grade for Edward, he also didn’t want to cause him any more strife.

Thankfully, in this instance, hope seemed to actually do something. Roy was more than pleased to, after marking only one question incorrect, be able to write an “A” in the top corner of Ed’s quiz. Briefly, an image came to his mind of Hughes and his grading methods. After only a moment’s hesitation, Roy scrawled a quick note of encouragement under the letter. It was far from his usual style, but it couldn’t hurt to make a whimsical exception.

\---

_Two more periods_. This was what Edward was trying to focus on, rather than the days left ahead before he would have another weekend of less stress. His mood had, predictably, not improved over the course of the day, and so Ed found himself trudging into Mr. Mustang’s class. Normally he tried to be as quiet and discreet as is possible when sitting in the front row, but today he didn’t even have the energy for that. The teacher, engrossed as per usual at his desk, glanced up briefly at Edward as he threw himself into his chair.

Did he imagine that the faintest smile also passed across Mr. Mustang’s face? Maybe he really was going crazy now.

The ringing of the bell brought the man to his feet, stopping to gather a stack of papers before walking to stand just in front of Edward. It was a very… _unfortunate_ position, and Ed cast his gaze _firmly_ down to the unassuming top of his desk. Funny how sadness made him feel hot and sick, but proximity to his fucking teacher’s crotch made him just as warm.

Why was he like this?

“Alright, everyone, I’ve graded the quizzes from last Friday,” Mr. Mustang began. Great. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting so many of you to forget that the letter ‘K’ represents potassium on the periodic table. Regardless, take a look at your results and we can go over any questions you may have.”

With that, the teacher started to call out names. One by one, students filed up and took their papers back. Edward didn’t deign to look up, but he imagined a mix of satisfaction and disappointment on his classmates’ faces. When Winry’s name was called, Ed held his breath as thought that would somehow make him disappear.

Edward’s quiz came last, with Mr. Mustang placing it on the desk himself. This time a cruel magnet seemed to pull the crown of his head back, and Ed found that he couldn’t resist looking up. His instructor really _was_ smiling at him this time, though the expression came and went quickly. The next thing he knew, Mr. Mustang was lowering himself back into his chair, saying, “I’ll let you all have five or so minutes to look over everything.”

Right. Bracing himself for a fat, red “F,” Edward focused on the papers before him. Shock widened his eyes. An “A?” Seriously?

What was more surprising were the few worst written beside his grade, slanted and loopy and encouraging. Ed mouthed the sentence to himself, the silent shape of it warm on his lips. “Exceptional job, Edward.”

Given the fact that the school year had only just begun, Edward hadn’t received too many papers back from Mr. Mustang. None of the others had had encouragement or praise come with them, and somehow Ed didn’t believe it was his instructor’s habit to write such things. Mr. Mustang was fair (mostly) and more importantly firm, his teaching style no-nonsense. It certainly didn’t include personalized notes to students.

Hardly daring to breathe as he did so, Edward looked up to study his teacher. Mr. Mustang was looking down at some more paperwork, seemingly oblivious to Ed’s stare…and yet something gave him the impression that the man _knew_ what he was thinking.

Biting his lip against the smile that had bubbled up, Edward looked back down at his quiz. Fuck, he was acting like some lovesick middle school _girl_. All up in a tizzy over a few words. But…it felt like it had been so long since he’d had positive educational feedback. And even longer since he’d felt like someone was proud of him. Sure, his family supported him, but in Ed’s mind Izumi and Sig and Al didn’t have much of a choice. They were blood, or as good as. Mr. Mustang was something else entirely.

“Alright, everyone, let’s get to questions!” Speak (or think) of the devil. The teacher stood, clapping his hands once as he spoke. Bizarrely, Edward was briefly tempted to pipe up and ask—in front of everyone!—what was up with his note. Why was Ed singled out? Or…was he not? Did Mr. Mustang in fact write something to everyone?

That hint of doubt, along with his last shreds of common sense, prevented Edward from making a sound. Instead, it was someone from the back row who spoke, asking about question three. Surely Mr. Mustang answered, but Ed had stopped listening.

What _was_ it with Mr. Mustang? Lying to Principal Bradley for him, offering his support, writing on Edward’s quiz…it seemed strange, or maybe that was just in his head. Maybe Ed was imagining that someone cared for him. Maybe because he was a dumb faggot who thought he was worth caring about.

Well, no. Edward didn’t really think that highly of himself.

Still. If he _wasn’t_ going crazy, if Mr. Mustang really was reaching out a kind hand to him…what then? Up until recently, the answer would have been simple: ignore it. Stay submerged in his darkness and hope that he could make it through the year. But if his teacher really cared…

Ed wasn’t sure he would ever be brave or stupid enough, but the idea of confiding in Mr. Mustang, which he’d shot down not long ago, suddenly seemed vaguely appealing.


	14. Chapter 14

Meandering from class to class, through halls that now looked hostile…was this how Edward felt every day? Izumi, always sympathetic to her son’s situation, felt another pang of his pain as she made her way down to Ed’s sixth bell class. Chemistry. Lately, Edward had been much more private with his grades than he had ever been before, and it didn’t take a genius to know why. Izumi was not so airheaded as to have not noticed his slipping grades. But what was she to do? Punish him? It wasn’t Edward’s fault, and besides, the boy punished himself enough.

She hadn’t been inside the school since the end of last year, after the whole debacle. For a while, it had felt like Izumi came to school as much as her sons did! In and out with questions, tears, calls about violence…and, more than anything, her own roiling anger. Izumi threatened to rip that bastard Principal’s mustache clean off his face, once. Only after Ed asked her to back off did she concede, with poor grace. And who could blame her? There were only so many times Izumi could hear that dick repeat that his hands were tied. That he would do nothing.

Even now she couldn’t help but let out a snort of derision. “No proof.” What a ridiculous statement. Izumi and everyone else involved had known damn well that Winry girl was the culprit. Maybe it was that Bradley was a homophobe. Not that the reasons mattered, or in any way excused his behavior.

Perhaps Izumi would stop into the Principal’s office after her tour of Ed’s classes, just to remind him that she hadn’t forgotten.

For now, though, she was stuck following Edward’s class schedule. Sig was off doing the same with Al’s. Really, these weren’t parent teacher conferences so much as explaining the class syllabi to curious moms and dads, considering that the meetings were held with a whole group of people. Every once in a while, a teacher would have something to say, calling out a particularly star student. That’s why she and Sig had come every year prior, because their boys always made a good impression. This year…well, that’s why Sig was here. Izumi was here for Ed, in case a teacher had something less than stellar to say about him.

Finally, she reached the door to Edward’s chemistry class, striding in and making room for herself to stand close to the front of the room. There were so many parents that there weren’t enough chairs for everyone. Not that Izumi minded; she was well used to being on her feet, and those seats looked mighty uncomfortable anyway. Curiously, she sized up the man she quickly picked out as the chemistry teacher. A quick glance at her copy of Ed’s schedule confirmed his name: Mr. Roy Mustang. Only a housewife would be able to tell that he’d been here longer than the other adults in the room. His black hair was a little more mussed, his shirt wrinkled at the arms from rolling the sleeves up and down throughout the day, and the bags under his eyes just a little more pronounced.

All of that was fairly standard for a high school teacher. What took Izumi aback was the man’s _youth_. He appeared, at a guess, to be maybe five years her junior. Which wasn’t that much, in retrospect. But she’d had the same reaction upon meeting Edward’s English teacher. When Izumi thought of educators, it brought to mind images of dusty old men and women. It seemed the universities were pumping them out younger these days.

It took Izumi a moment to realize who this Mustang character was speaking with, but when it clicked, her lip curled. Pinako, that filthy old bitch. Imagine your granddaughter ruining someone’s life, and then defending her. Izumi worked to keep her fists unclenched; she’d seen the hag in Ed’s first bell as well, and nearly sent her flying. Just like she ought to have the first time Pinako dared blame Edward for what happened. Her son wasn’t perfect, but _that_ …

Izumi was saved from dwelling—seething—by the teacher disentangling himself from whatever conversation they were having (probably congratulating Winry. Everyone was taken by her at first glance. Even Izumi had fallen for her charms) and coughing to gather everyone’s attention.

“Good evening, all. I know it’s been a long night, so I’ll try to keep things to a bare minimum.” Hmm. A lecturing voice, demanding of attention. This Mustang could be a professor. “To be perfectly frank, I’ve never found it did parents much good to hear a whole presentation about what I’ll be teaching their children. Your sons and daughters are in my AP Chemistry class, so that’s what they learn from me. Rather, I would prefer to open the floor early and get started with any questions or concerns you might have for me, be it about the class in general or your child specifically.”

Izumi almost laughed. She appreciated being spared from needless information, but what was she supposed to ask? _Have you noticed that my son is barely living? Any chemical equation to fix that?_

This whole thing was a waste of time. No one, through the whole day, had mentioned Edward to her. That was probably a good thing; it meant her boy might not be excelling, but at least he wasn’t struggling to the point of teachers feeling the need to get involved.

Questions from other parents washed over her. Safety concerns, mostly, with the experiments this class involved. One father wasted all their time boasting that his daughter could learn nothing from Mustang because she was just so smart. Izumi was a little perversely amused when said teacher promptly shut that down, citing that the girl in question was in fact not even in the top five students of this class. A mother, from the opposite side of the room, fretted the opposite; AP level might be too challenging for her son. She was directed to the school counselors, to discuss a new placement.

Each conference was meant to last only fifteen minutes, but Izumi found herself wishing time would speed up. She hoped Sig was having a more entertaining time with Al’s instructors.

Finally, time was up. Mustang wished everyone a good night, and Izumi was making her way to the door when his voice called for her. “Mrs. Curtis? Could I have a quick word with you, please?”

Oh no. Dread filled her from top to bottom, but Izumi kept her face calm and pleasant as she turned back around. “Yes, what can I do for you?” What would this man have to say? With any luck, Edward hadn’t gotten—or done anything—too bad…

The man, oddly, looked uncomfortable. This couldn’t possibly be his first time breaking bad news to a parent, could it? “You’re Edward Elric’s guardian, is that correct?”

“I’m his mother, yes.” Regardless of what the paperwork said, Ed was as good as her own. Alphonse, too. Izumi loved those two boys so much sometimes she couldn’t breathe for it.

A smile tugged at the edge of Mustang’s mouth, quickly extinguished by whatever words were on his lips. “Mrs. Curtis, I…have an unusual question. I was wondering if you might be able to help me to help your son.”

Well, that wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting. Still, this only sounded like some roundabout way to get to the point, which she was quite sure would remain the same. “What is you need, exactly? I—” Izumi broke off, sighing as she gathered her thoughts. “Is Edward not doing well in class?”

This seemed to surprise the instructor, who held up a hand apologetically. “Oh, no, that’s not it. Well, not exactly. Ed’s doing fine, but the truth is I believe he could be doing better. Stupendous, actually. His previous years’ records are glowing, and yet in my classroom Edward is more of an average student. I’ve discussed this with him a little, and I’ve gathered that something happened to him that shook him up quite badly. I…well, I was wondering if you would tell me what that was, Mrs. Curtis. If you know, that is,” Mustang added thoughtfully. “I don’t know how much Ed confides in you, obviously. It’s just that I think I could be of some assistance if only I knew what I was working with.”

Unconsciously, Izumi crossed her arms so that she was near hugging herself. She knew this sort of body language gave off the impression of insecurity, but to be fair that’s exactly what she was. Being a mom was always hard, but when your son goes through a trauma…well, that’s a different kind of hard.

And this man, Mr. Mustang, wanted her to discuss it with him! It was interesting that he’d managed to learn anything at all. The whole explosive incident had been remarkably quiet, in terms of faculty. Izumi was the one who’d brought it to Bradley’s attention, for all the good that did. That implied that Edward might have actually said something to the man, or at least let something slip. Was it possible that her son was thawing? That he was ready to not shoulder this burden alone?

Heavens above, what was she supposed to do in this situation? No parenting book could have prepared Izumi for this. “Sorry,” she murmured, realizing it had been a few seconds while the instructor waited for her response. “I just don’t know what to say. I want nothing more than to help my son. What has he told you?”

Mustang shrugged, a helpless lilt to his shoulders. “All I know is that Ed is gay, but that that’s just the tip of the iceberg. He needs support, but doesn’t seem to want it.”

Izumi shook her head sadly. That was pretty spot on. “I’m amazed he confessed to you about his sexuality. Edward tries his hardest to pretend he feels otherwise.”

“Well, it more just leaked out. I witnessed the scuffle Ed got into with Elijah. He must have mentioned…?”

“That’s right.” How could she have forgotten? Though the details _had_ slipped her mind. Izumi hadn’t registered this particular teacher’s involvement, having been too wrapped up in worry for Edward. Physically and otherwise. “I have to say, you’ve put me in a hell of a bind, asking that.”

The man’s face scrunched all together, worry lines already forming at the top of his young nose. “What do you mean?”

“I have two choices,” Izumi began, weighing them in her head all the while. The lights were too bright in this room, like they were judging her. Both choices were right. Both were wrong. “I can betray my son’s trust and tell you of his deepest struggles in the hope that you can help him like you seem to think you can. Or I can maintain Edward’s confidence, and turn away the offer of a lifeline.”

\---

As soon as Ed’s mother spoke, Roy felt his face fall. He’d not considered the situation like that; he really had given her an impossible choice. It was just that his own hands felt so tied…it was, perhaps, a drastic measure to reach out to Edward’s parents for assistance. Roy had felt like he did something _right_ for Ed when he wrote that little note on his quiz. The kid had seemed in a better mood for a whole day. But of course, something that small couldn’t fix whatever was happening inside of Edward. And so, in hopes of some pointers, Roy turned to Mrs. Curtis.

That, however, was asking too much and being too unfair to her. After all, she had to handle a much larger portion of Ed’s burden than Roy did himself. “My apologies. I hadn’t looked at it from that angle. And I certainly don’t want to push you either way. I just want to help.”

To his surprise, Mrs. Curtis smiled at him. It wasn’t wide, but rather soft and genuine. “No need to be sorry. It’s…a complicated situation, shades of grey rather than black and white. Thank you for caring about my boy. If you can think of something else to help him, I’d be more than happy to help.”

It was permission, of a sort, and it was ringing in Roy’s ears long after Edward’s mother had finally left. A challenge didn’t deter him; in fact, it just made him all the more motivated to get to the bottom of the Ed mystery.

Besides, even if what he’d told Mrs. Curtis—that he stumbled upon the fact of Edward’s queerness—was true, that didn’t mean the boy didn’t trust him. At least a little. Roy could work with that.


	15. Chapter 15

How… _how_ had Edward ever been convinced this would be a good idea? School was bad enough, but a school _dance_?

Ed was, with his fingers shaking so hard he could barely button up his shirt, about 70 percent sure Alphonse had drugged him. How else would his brother have managed to persuade him to go to homecoming? Of course, the constant nagging and begging and repetition of, “It’s your _senior_ homecoming, Brother, it’s your last chance!” might have had something to do with it. But now…alone as he was, getting dressed, Edward had a much clearer mind. A mind that was practically shrieking in rebellion at his actions, that was telling him this was a bad fucking idea.

Al was just so _excited_. May had agreed to go with him, and Alphonse had been walking on air ever since. Ed, to his great shame, felt both happy for and betrayed by his younger brother. Of course, it was wonderful that Al was enjoying himself. But a sick part of Edward was so _hurt_ that everyone else was moving on. Of course, they should; that was the healthy and normal thing to do. It still sucked, though, being left behind in misery while everyone around you got to enjoy life. Got to be okay.

He was going to have to find a way to stop thinking if he was going to get through tonight.

“Brother! Hurry up!”

The sound of Alphonse calling for him startled Edward, but he did indeed hurry up. Not that he was overly worried about being on time to the dance. Ed just didn’t want Al coming into their room, and seeing…

A flash of silver before the flask hid itself under Edward’s waistband. There. He wasn’t usually a drinker, mostly because Ed absolutely _detested_ hangovers. But there was no denying that alcohol had a unique ability to numb the pain, and he thoroughly expected to need that. With his secret tucked away, Ed walked out of their room, through the hall, and into the living room.

For a second, everything felt _almost_ normal. Izumi and Sig were beaming, May was grinning like a fool, and Alphonse was holding on tight to her arm like she might disappear if he didn’t. The only thing out of place was Edward himself.

“Come on, Ed, we just want to get a picture of all three of you before you leave,” Izumi said, beckoning him in. Feeling very much as though he were slightly out of step with the rest of the world, and especially the room he was in, Edward floated forward until he was standing beside Alphonse. Al, bless his soul, spared a reassuring glance before turning his attention back to his date.

“Smile, now!” The command came from Sig, his face hidden behind the camera. Undoubtedly it was meant for Edward. How was he meant to smile, though? Did he even remember what that felt like?

A sudden, terror-stricken thought: _I can’t ruin Al’s photo just because I can’t get it together!_

And so, because his brother was pretty much the only thing Ed cared about anymore, he turned his head to the side just enough so that Alphonse was in his peripheral vision. And he filled his dumb brain with thoughts of Al’s future, of how bright his happiness was, and smiled as best he could.

The duo beside him hardly waited for the camera’s flash to fade before pulling him excitedly out the door, May’s pink dress swirling around all three of them. Edward found himself hopping on one foot out onto the street, trying to finish putting his shoes on. Even once he was done, he lagged a little way behind the happy couple.

Walking to the homecoming dance felt like walking through ink, its blackness staining Ed with every step. But Al and May served as a light to guide him through.

\---

This was _not_ the sort of thing Roy typically found himself doing on a Saturday evening. Grading papers, preparing for class, having a drink with Maes…those were his weekend activities, along with helping Riza keep house. Chaperoning the CCHS homecoming dance was quite far from what he’d prefer to be up to.

It had been a short notice happenstance, really. Roy and Riza had been fighting—she wanted him to get reading glasses, and he insisted that he could see just fine. Besides, Roy felt glasses made his face look older, exacerbating the fine lines of worry around the bridge of his nose. The phone had rung, then, and it had been Maes. One of the other teachers who had volunteered to chaperone the dance had come down with a cold, and was there any way Roy would be interested in filling in? And because the last thing he had wanted to do was spend an evening in the same house as his irritable wife, Roy had said yes.

Now…well, he wasn’t _regretting_ the decision, exactly. It was that he was vaguely out of his comfort zone. In class, students could range from rowdy to studious, but Roy knew how to handle all of that. And in the halls, a sharp glance was usually enough to stop any inappropriate behavior. But here, with the gymnasium darked and decorated and _shaking_ with music…it was more than Roy was used to.

He couldn’t help the wry smile that crossed his face at that thought. Had it really been so long since Roy himself had attended these sorts of events? Even as recently as college, he’d snuck beneath a professor’s notice for a quick tryst. How had the years aged him so?

Roy was so lost in his thoughts, he jumped when a hand—quickly revealed to be attached to Hughes—landed on his shoulder. “Having fun yet?”

“Need I remind you that we aren’t the ones who are supposed to be having fun, Maes?” Roy’s eyebrow raised with the question. Hughes was holding a glass of what thankfully appeared to be water. The last thing he needed was to also be chaperoning his fellow teacher.

“Aw, sure we are!” Maes retorted, turning to watch the crowd of students before them. It was harder than Roy had expected to tell whether they were dancing or dry humping. “Even if we’re working, we can’t be expected to _not_ enjoy the music!”

It was strange—until Hughes said that, Roy hadn’t realized…the music. His house used to be _full_ of music. Riza would sing, or have the radio going. When had that stopped? Of course, the singing had stopped after the miscarriage. But when had the whole place gone so quiet?

Maybe that was why he felt so odd being here. “I suppose you’re right,” Roy replied, a heartbeat too late. Though he kept his gaze forward, he felt Hughes glance at him.

“You all right, Roy?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” he sighed.

“You sounded kinda tense on the phone earlier, ya know,” Maes observed. “Everything okay at—hey! I _see_ you over there!—at home?”

Were things ever okay at home? When was the last time they had been? “Same as ever.”

The song changed then, growing so loud it was almost impossible to speak over the din. Hughes merely gave Roy an apologetic look, for which he was grateful; the last thing he needed was his over-excited best friend shouting about his marital problems. Clapping Maes on the shoulder, Roy moved away, closer to the entrance of the gym. There, at least, he could hear himself think.

Although, maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. Roy had determined long ago that he would stay with Riza until the day she gave up on him, or the day he died—whatever came first. But lately his more selfish side was becoming more insistent that he simply _couldn’t_ live the rest of his life like this. Perhaps he would suggest to Riza they see a couple’s counselor. She hadn’t been keen on the idea in the past, but it was always worth another try…

With some surprise, Roy was brought out of his ruminations by the sight of Edward Elric. He was slinking into the gym, following someone who looked so much like him they could only be brothers. Ed was just about the last person Roy had expected to come to the dance; after all, he seemed so uncomfortable around his classmates. Had something changed?

As the boy glanced around, seeming nervous, his eye caught sight of his teacher. Roy nodded his head in greeting, shocked once again when Edward hurriedly looked away. And was that just the light, or had his cheeks been reddening?

Quite alight with curiosity, on any other occasion Roy would have followed his student and elicited a proper greeting—and an explanation. But tonight he was here doing his job, and so he continued to watch the undulating crowd. And pretended not to be aware of the blonde standing off to the side.

\---

As soon as he walked into the gym, a sick feeling washed over Edward, a wave so strong he really did think he was going to vomit for a moment. This truly had been a _horrible_ idea.

He’d read, in some psychology book or article, about how recollections could be triggered. Smell was a big component, but the other senses played a part as well. Ed felt crazy, but entering the room made memories he’d tried his hardest to bury come flashing before his eyes—

\-- _lights strobing, hands grabbing at a suit jacket, lips busy and gasping—_

_All_ kinds of memories. Trying desperately to ground himself, Edward looked around as though playing spot the difference. Anything to remind himself that this _wasn’t_ last year’s prom again. But he locked eyes for half a heartbeat with Mr. Mustang and—

\-- _Rupert was taller than he was, his fingers tangling in Ed’s hair, desperate, so different from Winry—_

\--Edward looked away quickly. Not that. He could survive reliving the shame and the guilt, those demons he had been fighting every day since then. But not _that_. He felt his mouth move, telling Alphonse to “Go dance, I’ll be fine!” Ha! Fine? As if!

\-- _the door to the men’s room opening, closing just as quickly, and what did he care when there was hot breath on his throat—_

\--Oh, fuck. Ed wanted to leave, he _needed_ to get out of there. But he’d promised Al he would come. Did it really count if he left after less than a minute in the building? Trying to suppress shivers despite how hot the room was, Edward slowly made his way to the far wall of the gymnasium. It was a good thing he spent so much time now pretending not to exist; he was quite adept at avoiding attention, and no one could be allowed to see him reaching for his hip—

\-- _again with the door, this time a scream, and_ no _, it couldn’t be, she couldn’t see this—_

_\--_ Ed took a swig too hastily, breathing half of the sharp liquid in. At least the violent coughing that ensued covered up the motion of him replacing the flask. He hoped it would kick in quickly, searing away his thoughts like it seared the back of his throat. Two songs—no, that wasn’t enough. Three. He would stay three songs for Alphonse’s sake, and then he would have to leave.

Three songs blurred by alcohol couldn’t be so bad, right?


End file.
